


Pure Ecstasy

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-03
Updated: 2001-09-03
Packaged: 2018-11-10 12:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: "Newsflash! Member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrested for attacking American citizen at the 27th Police Precinct.”  – How did we get here?





	Pure Ecstasy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Pure Ecstasy

## Pure Ecstasy

by Tim Woyma and Laura Lee aka Snowee

Author's website: http://snowee.50megs.com

Disclaimer: Not ours. Alliance gets them back when we're good and ready.   
Story stuff is very much ours. Jane belongs to Tim.   


Author's Notes: 

Story Notes: 

* * *

Thursday Night  
11:45 PM 

Laying open the half-size notebook, Constable Jane Katherine McDermon, RCMP, reached over to turn on a small desk lamp. Hair still wet from a long bath, she sat to write in her journal. Never a child to keep a diary, her journal was a holdover from time spent going to a psychiatrist during freshman psychology in college. Inking in the date at the top of the page, Jane began writing in neat, precise longhand. 

"Good God I hate Thursdays. Today was a normal Thursday, I suppose. Pure crap! HA ha ha. The Inspector met me at the door to my office with work. Didn't have time to go to lunch, but there was half a hamburger left from last Friday in the refrigerator. Worked late, but I got done with all my work. Couldn't go out and relax though, so I went right home. 

"I'm learning more and more that consular personnel are not allowed to have personal lives. It's been almost a year since I left Surrey, and I haven't even been on a proper date since then. Now, that's not to say I've been without the physical companionship on occasion, but nothing worth emotion. I absolutely hate this nun's life, I'm so lonely. To make up for it, I decided to improvise. Took a long warm bath and a nice strong drink or three to relax, and after I'm done writing I'll go to sleep. Work sucks on Fridays, but the weekend is waiting just after the clock strikes 5. I hope tomorrow's better..." 

Closing the book, Jane re-capped the silver pen, and slid it into the wire spiral of the notebook. Turning off the lamp, she crossed the bedroom, dropping her bathrobe along the way. Turning down the sheets, she climbed into bed, set the alarm, and drifted off to sleep... 

Friday   
5:45 AM 

The digital clock began its customary, unholy din suddenly. Playing a country song loudly and without remorse, the alarm jerked Jane from a deep, if un-restful, sleep. Rolling over, she smacked the snooze button as hard as she could, knocking the digital clock off the nightstand. 

Eight minutes later she was jerked back awake by the voice of the local country DJ. His disgustingly wakeful-sounding voice cut into Jane, for if she'd been drinking coffee non-stop since 3 AM she would be disgustingly awake, too. She swung to hit the snooze button, only to hit her hand hard against the table. A shouted curse followed the sharp twinge of pain. To stop the din, she pulled herself out of bed and onto the floor, pulling off the flannel sheets as she fell. She blindly groped around the nightstand to turn off the alarm, and finally did. She lay for a moment on the soft carpet, considering going back to sleep. Knowing what she had to do, however, she slowly lifted herself off the floor and turned on the lamp next to her bed. 

She looked around her bedroom, and was greeted by an absolute mess. Next to the night table, her clothes from the day before sat in a pile. In other areas of the floor, four more piles of clothes represented the past few days. No matter what, she decided, she would take care of it after work. She would separate the piles into uniform shirts, pants, socks, and underclothes to be washed. She'd clean up her living room and kitchen too, it was decided. She had let work serve as an excuse to avoid housework, and that was unacceptable. 

Setting the clock back onto the nightstand, she read the digital display. 5:54. She swore again. She'd set her clock last night for the wrong time; it was supposed to wake her up at 5:15, not 5:45. Stumbling quickly into the bathroom, she turned on the light, and shielded her eyes until she could adjust. She didn't want to wake up, but she had to go to work. Climbing into the shower, she began to slowly wake up, one of her favorite effects of a long, hot shower. When she reached for the soap, she found no bar in the disk. Another muttered curse, and she climbed out to search for more soap. 

By the time she had finished showering, and getting ready, it was already almost 6:45. Hurriedly pulling on her patrol uniform, she could see the sun through the window. By this time, she knew, she should be eating her breakfast. Grabbing her forage cap, she briskly walked out the door. 

7:45 AM 

Sprinting into the Consulate, Jane knew she was late, and that she'd catch hell from Inspector Thatcher. A McDonald's breakfast had taken longer than she'd have liked, delaying her morning commute even more. The battery in her cell phone had died; this morning was shaping up into a comedy of errors. She shook off her black nylon patrol coat and hat; the morning clouds had opened up and started a full-scale downpour. She'd made the mistake of trusting the radio weather report, and had neither an umbrella nor a raincoat. Leaving a trail of water droplets along the carpet, she made her way down the hall. Sitting at his desk in the entry, Constable Turnbull sat perfectly upright, and rose to greet her. 

"Good morning, Constable McDermon. It's a fine morning, isn't it?" She took one look at his immaculate red serge, and decided that his uniform, like Fraser's, used some sort of mystical power to repel dirt, dust, wrinkles, and anything else that would damage perfection. She stood, however, shaking herself out like a wet cat. 

"Absolutely lovely morning, Constable. I love the rain. I just don't love walking in it for 4 and a half blocks without a raincoat. My fricken car's in the shop again, it was supposed to be ready yesterday, but they screwed up, and it won't be done until noon." She pulled the clip out of her hair, let it fall the best it would, and ran her fingers through it, shaking loose the water. "Anything important? Mail? Packages? Faxes?" Turnbull ruffled through a stack of papers, and finally pulled out a small pink piece of paper. Handing it to her, he stated that it was a phone message, rather redundantly, since she was already reading it. Crumpling it up, she tossed it over the desk. It banked off Turnbull's knee, and into the trashcan. 

"Nothing important, Constable?" 

"No, Turnbull, it's of absolutely no value at all." Turning on her heel with a watery squish, she walked to her office. 

Shaking out her patrol coat one more time, she hung it on the coat rack, careful not to let it drip water onto the wall. Locking the door, she stripped off her wet patrol uniform, and dug through the small coat closet, where her best standard issue brown serge was hanging (she'd just had the pants tailored a bit and the whole uniform dry cleaned). She removed the serge from its plastic garment bag, and began changing. Buttoning up her shirt, she sat down at her desk and turned on her computer. 

While she put a half-Windsor knot into the black tie, her modem was signing onto the government server. No official e-mails were waiting for her, which simply meant she didn't have to put up with the hassle of replying to anything. As she signed off, she heard what she knew was coming. 

"McDermon!" The shrill cry of Inspector Thatcher cut through the thin walls of the Consulate. Buttoning the last button of her jacket, Jane ran out the door, and into the office of her boss, Inspector Margaret Thatcher, RCMP. Snapping to attention, she waited in silence for the chewing-out that she knew would follow. "Close the door behind you, Constable." Once she had done so, she returned to her original position of attention in front of the desk. "Constable, quite frankly, I've been deeply concerned with your performance as of late. I know you've only been here in Chicago for a few months..." 

"Five months, ma'am." 

"Don't interrupt me, Constable!" The Inspector snapped Jane's file closed. "I've been seeing a disturbing trend of tardiness and shoddy work. Only today, you came into the Consulate 15 minutes late. You were similarly late yesterday. And last week you were late three times. Such performance is absolutely unacceptable. I've been reviewing your past performance reviews, and despite your other failings, they attest to high dependability on your part. In fact, based on your past reviews, you are a superior police officer. Yet you come to Chicago where both your behavior and your reliability decline dramatically. Consider this your first, second, third, and final verbal warning to improve. Rest assured, without a noticeable improvement, I will suspend you without pay, and recommend to Headquarters that dismissal procedures begin. I don't appreciate behavior like this from my Constables, and if it continues, I will see you out of the RCMP. Do you understand me, Constable?" 

Jane swallowed her pride, opting instead for a continued paycheck. "Yes ma'am." 

"Now get out of my sight and for God's sake, do something about your hair. I will not have my Constables parading around looking like something a stray cat wouldn't drag in." 

"Yes ma'am." Doing a smart about-face, Jane smirked to herself, glad that her wet shoes would grind dirt into the Inspector's flawless carpet. Six steps quick march, a slammed door, and Jane was safe from the Dragon Lady. Safe, at least, for the time being. Back in her office, Jane hurriedly brushed out her hair, leaving it down to dry out. Outside the tiny window, she could see the early October rainstorm was already slowing to a drizzle. Dropping the brush into a desk drawer, she organized the papers Turnbull had left on her desk to begin her work day... 

12:00 PM 

Fraser glanced at his watch as he walked through the front doors of the consulate. After his turn at guard, he was ready to get into his office and finish the paperwork waiting for him. Fortunate that there wasn't much, he took a moment to stop at the front desk. "Any messages, Constable?" Turnbull glanced around the desk, rearranging papers. 

"Yes, yes there are." Fraser held out his hand. Turnbull, however, ignored him until Fraser loudly cleared his throat. 

"Oh, they're not for you, Constable Fraser. They are for the Inspector. No messages for you." At that moment, the phone began to ring and Fraser rolled his eyes while reaching to pick up the receiver. 

"Canadian Consulate. Constable Fraser speaking." 

"Can't you just say 'hello'?" Ray Kowalski asked cheerily. "What're you doing today?" 

Fraser straightened and turned away slight from Turnbull, even though the younger Constable was obviously oblivious to pretty much everything in his environment. "I am at work." 

"I know that, but the Ice Queen got you buried in work or what?" 

The Mountie frowned at the nickname. "There are a number of papers that need..." 

"Take a break. I scored a day off and I'm not spending it sitting around my apartment." Kowalski picked up his jacket with his free hand and put an arm through the sleeve. 

"What do you suggest?" Benton asked, stepping to one side of the desk. 

"I suggest you play hooky and come with me to Ed's Bar & Grill." 

"I don't think it would be appropriate to leave before I've finished my duties." 

Ray breathed loudly. The Constable was too perfect for his own good. "Well, finish them up. I'm picking you up so we can go in half an hour." 

"Ray, could we go somewhere else?" 

"No. Why?" 

"I'm not sure I see the value in my going to a place known as Ed's Bar & Grill," Fraser enunciated the foreign concept. 

"They have the best food in town, buddy. I'll be there in twenty five minutes." 

"Ray, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline the offer." 

"Oh, come on, Fraze. I'm going nuts here. I gotta get out. I had to work on that stalking case all last weekend so I'm going to enjoy this day. I'm not doing it without you." 

Fraser rubbed his forehead and let out a long breath. "Perhaps if I hurry I can finish my work before you arrive. Are you sure you wouldn't like to take a trip to the zoo? Perhaps an excursion to the geologic museum?" 

"Yeah, like I'm gonna spend the day looking at rocks. Come on, Fraser... buddy...?" Ray got quiet for a moment before continuing. "Ed's it is." He said and hung up. 

Fraser heard the click, then found himself staring at the phone a moment before returning it to the cradle. A clearing throat brought his attention the hallway where a drying Jane stood. "Oh, hello Jane. Can I help you with something?" 

"No, Fraze. Just letting you know that the Inspector is looking for you. I think she has more work for you..." Jane smiled apologetically as Fraser turned and headed for the Inspector's office. 

12:25 PM 

Ray Kowalski pulled up to the curb in front of the Canadian Consulate, quickly jumping out of the black GTO and up the steps to the Consulate doors. Upon entering, he was greeted by Turnbull who stood. "Hello, Detective. How may I help you?" 

"Just looking for Fraser," Ray responded, looking down the hall toward Fraser's office. 

"I haven't seen him lately," Turnbull added with a euphoric grin. 

"Sure," Ray replied. "Maybe I should just go find him." 

As Ray spoke, Jane came out of the kitchen down the hall. She held a cup of coffee, and looked harried beyond belief. As she took a sip of the coffee, Ray could see the marksman patches on her sleeve. Both pistol and rifle were surmounted by a Queen's Crown, and every patch was obviously embroidered in actual gold thread. Ray had asked Fraser one day what the crowns meant. Fraser pointed out it was for scoring at least 295 out of 300 on her firearms quals, though Ray later learned that she could, and often did, shoot perfect scores. Turning towards the door, Jane saw the American, and began walking towards him. Her brown uniform was more finely tailored then an evening gown, and Kowalski instinctively slicked back his hair. 

"Morning Ray. So, I hear you're taking Fraser to a bar?" 

"Well, it's a bar and grill," Ray replied. "They have great burgers there." 

Jane nodded. "That's good. You need to get Fraser out of here. Thatcher's been working his ass off since he got here." Both officers grinned in the understanding of overworked police officers everywhere. 

"The Ice Queen can do that sometimes." 

"Yeah, she's a skank. I hate her." Ray stifled a laugh, he was used to the Mounties giving the Inspector undying loyalty. Only Jane, it seemed, would voice an opinion of her own, a refreshing change of pace. 

"Would you, uh, like to join us? I'm sure the Inspector keeps you pretty busy, too." 

"Oh, no, I couldn't. But since you insist, yes." She flashed him a grin. "I'll go light a fire under Fraser's desk, get him out here faster." 

Fraser and Ray found a table on one side of the restaurant and as Jane sat, she summoned the waiter. Glancing at the drinks and desert menu on the table, she immediately picked out an oddity. "What's Ed's Margarita? 

The waiter smiled a little and lifted his notepad. "House special. Kinda fruity. Somewhere between a margarita and a daiquiri." 

Jane shrugged. "I'll take one." 

"Leaded or unleaded?" he asked. 

"Premium leaded," she replied as the man nodded and waited for Fraser and Ray to order. They replied by opening their menus and waving him away. 

Ray and Fraser immediately fell into conversation about work and cases, leaving Jane feeling a bit like a third wheel. Soon she had her drink and didn't really care that two men had chosen a nearby table for their lunch. Once Jane finished her drink, she went to find the waiter. Around the corner was a small bar where she stood and waited. 

"I do love a woman in uniform." An unfamiliar voice with an annoyingly familiar line came from behind her. She turned slightly. "What kind of uniform is that?" he asked. 

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police," she replied coldly, knowing exactly what would follow. It was the same game that was often played in situations like this. 

"Canadian?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "They sure grow them pretty in Canada." 

Jane feared she would gag and decided to wait patiently at the table for her drink, but just then a bartender came to her. She placed her order and turned, trying to ignore the irritating stranger. When the drink arrived, she grabbed it quickly. Knowing she would have to turn back around and pass the man, she looked down and tried to be quick. Instead she bumped into someone and when she looked up, she saw a much more handsome and gracious stranger than the previous. "Excuse me," he said, grabbing a few napkins and handing them to her, then taking a few more to brush himself. 

Thankfully the drink had missed her uniform, so Jane looked at her empty glass instead of grooming herself. The man picked up on it and took her glass. "Let me buy you another," he offered and asked the bartender to repeat her previous order. 

"Thank you," Jane responded, a slight smile making her way out. 'Good-looking, friendly,' she thought to herself. 'He should do nicely for tonight.' "Maybe I'll let you buy me dinner," she said as she tapped a napkin at her jacket, more as reflex then to actually clean something. 

The man froze, but let a smile cross his face. "I'd like that," he responded. "My name's Steve," he added, holding out a hand. 

"Jane," she replied with a grin. "Well, it's just lucky for you that I'm free tonight." 

Steve frowned suddenly. The bartender set her drink on the counter and Steve passed it to her quickly. "Well, I've got a business dinner tonight. Perhaps tomorrow?" 

Jane let out a long breath. She was ready for something now, tonight. She hated being put on hold. She smiled politely, coldly. "Perhaps," she said softly, then took her drink and without another word, headed back to join Ray and Fraser as she mentally cursed her luck. 

As she sat beside Fraser, Jane couldn't help overhearing the conversation between the two men behind her. 

"No. It's a pretty new club," the one man confided in his friend. "Then we went downstairs and - well, you just wouldn't believe the place. Quiet corners, I saw a little bit of just about everything." 

"You know, you go to place like that, it seems the booze are always watered down or just plain crap," the friend added in skeptically. 

"No, no, man. This place was the best," the first man insisted. 

"I'll take your word for it." The second man opened a packet of sugar and poured it into his coffee. "Where's this place, then?" 

"Corner of 3rd and Main. Can't miss it." 

"Jane?" Fraser asked, bumping her elbow as she jolted back to the reality of her table. 

"What'd I miss?" She drank from her glass and returned it to the table. 

"Lunch, apparently," Ray replied with a chuckle. A light grumble from her stomach pointed the fact out to her. 

"We really should return to our duties at the Consulate," Fraser said, ignoring Ray's comment. 

Jane smiled a little and stood, swallowing the last of her drink as she straightened. 

Once Ray had dropped off the two Mounties, he explained that he was going to go home to watch a movie. Jane followed Fraser quickly inside, then went to her office. 

After some consideration, she decided she was more than a little interested in going to this new club. She left her paperwork and headed for Fraser's office, careful to bypass Inspector Thatcher. 

Fraser's door was open, as was typical during working hours, so Jane stepped inside and watched him work for a moment. In between pages, Fraser looked up. "Can I help you, Constable?" 

"Inspector found more work for you, I see?" 

"Yes," Fraser replied. "While we were at lunch she found a number of discrepancies in the budget report. I am to re-evaluate the forms until I can resolve the inconsistencies." 

"What fun," Jane replied. "I guess that probably means she'll be able to find more work for me, too." She let out a sigh. 

Fraser waited a moment, but Jane only stood in the doorway looking around the room. "Did you need me for some reason?" he asked finally, trying not to sound as if he was rushing her along. 

Jane leaned against the door, thought better of it, and straightened. "I'd like to take you out tonight," she stated simply. 

Fraser pondered a moment, then put down his pen. "Take me out?" He cocked his head to one side. 

"Yes," she replied in mock formality. "Not on a date or anything, so just settle down. I just think it would be beneficial to your social skills if..." she stopped and grinned. 

Fraser stood. "I didn't realize my social skills were lacking." 

Jane shook her head with a chuckle. "They're not. I just want to show you what a little fun looks like." She paused. "I'll pick you up here at - I'll need to change," another pause as she counted on her fingers to make up for the silence. "Let's say 9, ok?" 

Fraser nodded hesitantly and waited for Jane to leave before getting back to work. 

8:55 PM 

As Fraser finally managed to make all the budget reports coordinate, he looked at his watch and realized he only had a few minutes to grab a bite to eat before Jane would be arriving. He hurried into the kitchen for a sandwich. He sighed at the simplistic meal, but soon went back to his office to change. 

Hearing a light knock on his door, he ran his hand over his hair to make sure it was straight before greeting Jane. 

With her hair pulled up into a twist that allowed the ends to float wildly above her head, her upper arms were left completely bare. Fraser feared she might be cold when he noted the short black dress with a low sweetheart neckline. The lacing at the chest left little to his imagination as Fraser tugged at the collar of his sweater. 

"Ready?" Jane asked, choosing not to mention that his clothes were far too conservative. She smiled, knowing it was likely the only thing he had to wear. "I hope I wasn't late." 

Fraser did not respond, instead hurrying ahead to get the front door of the Consulate for Jane. 

As Jane drove near the address she had overheard, she was guided by a searchlight, plus a large number of parked vehicles. She parked and looked at the building where the windows flashed bright colours, welcoming them. Several other people were on their way inside the building so she simply followed toward the large converted warehouse with 'Vortex' shining above the door. The building was a bit behind other warehouses in the area and the stairs up the back led to the main entrance. She followed the sound of the music, watching Fraser from the corner of her eye to make sure he followed. 

The reverb of drums and bass guitar tried to change the rhythm of Jane's heart beating. Fraser didn't want to admit it, but he felt unnerved by his surroundings. When she had said she wanted to take him out and show him what a good time looked like, he had absolutely no idea that this sort of thing even existed. People were packed together, practically bouncing off each other to the electronic sounds intertwined in the music. 

Boom, boom, boom. The floor shook beneath Fraser's feet as Jane grabbed his arm and pulled him through a dense congregation. As they passed into the bar, the sounds were muted and Fraser could once again hear more than muffled vowel sounds. He followed Jane to the bar where she slipped her fingers into the top of her dress and pulled a bill from her bra before leaning over to the bartender. 

"Two Hot Damns," she said quickly. 

Fraser leaned toward Jane and spoke into her ear. "Oh, I don't want a drink, thank you." 

Jane didn't take her eyes away from the bartender who filled two shot glasses with the red liquid, then took her money and returned her change. She picked them up and turned to Fraser. "Good, because they're not for you," she replied, then swallowed one drink and left the empty glass on the bar. 

Fraser pointed to the remaining glass and raised his eyebrows. Jane responded by shaking her head, shooting the second, and placing the glass on the bar where the previous one had already been removed. 

One song drifted into the next and as Jane heard the over amplified tunes drifting in from the basement dance floor she winked at Fraser. Without a word, she rushed past him and headed toward the sound. 

Fraser followed, not wanting to admit that the idea of being alone amongst this group was beginning to bother him. Many of the people dressed as he had seen before in clubs, but a few looked even more dangerous. He caught a glimpse of Jane's head disappearing around a corner and pushed his way to follow her. 

Upon entering the massive black washed room, he found himself facing a strobe. Just as his eyes began to adjust, it stopped flashing and was replaced with moving beams of coloured light. He lost sight of Jane, but soon recognized her figure moving in and out of the light source in slow methodic movement. Looking around, he noted a bar and walked slowly to it. Unoccupied stools lined the area and he glanced behind the bar to see two people kissing intently on a couch. Behind them was a wall, which extended to a wide hallway, then disappeared into darkness. He took a seat, then turned back to watch Jane. 

The woman's eyes were closed as she shifted around through the people, lost in the broken rhythms and smooth lyrics. Fraser almost lost himself in the deranged lyrics and as the song dripped into the next, Jane noticed the stiff Mountie seated across the room. Approaching him, she took his arm and gently lifted him. She mouthed words he did not hear, then tugged him along, letting go once she was sure he was following her. 

She'd lost interest in the song and guided him back to the main floor where the rave techno blared remixes of old tunes through the air. The room was a bit brighter and there were more lights. Fraser noted the people appeared much less dreary and far more animated. He stopped as Jane headed for the assembly of dancers. She turned when she noticed he hadn't followed and went back to take his arm. Pulling him to the center of the crowd, she began a more lively movement, swaying arms and hips about him. Fraser stood solid, so Jane tugged at his neck until he leaned toward her. At that, she yelled into his ear. "Dance! You look foolish!" 

Fraser found incredible absurdity at the statement as he had just been thinking how foolish the people dancing looked. He watched for a moment as she moved around him, dancing against him, shifting, tugging at him. Finally he gave in and began a slow sway from side to side. 

Jane rolled her eyes, but said nothing more. She assumed at this point that swaying might be the best she would get from him. Distracted momentarily by a tall man in a leather jacket, she set her eyes back on Fraser as the man blended back into the throng of dancers who all looked the same in the half-light. She briefly considered admonishing Fraser for his puritanical dancing, but figured it would be of no use. Moving closer to Fraser, she began dancing even more sensuously then before, oblivious to his discomfort. 

After a few minutes, Jane decided the shots had enough time to work their way into her system so she led Fraser back to the darkened bar. The wood was warped beneath their feet and she stepped up to the bartender. "Two Hot Damns," she said, "and an Amaretto Sour." After exchanging the money, she downed the two cinnamon drinks and held the sour in her hand, walking away from the crowd at the stools. 

She stirred the almond whiskey into the sour mix almost compulsively with the two mini straws, then took the cherry out with two fingers and slipped it into her mouth. Fraser watched in amazement as her mouth contorted slightly and moments later she produced a cherry stem tied into a knot. She held the stem out to her companion, but he made no effort to accept the gift. After a moment, she shrugged and tossed the stem to the floor. She took a sip of her drink and watched as Fraser hurried to retrieve the stem and put it in the proper receptacle. She took hold of his shoulder and leaned upward, pressing her lips closer to his ear. 

"Fraser! Floor, garbage can, it's all the same here!" Finally beginning to feel the drinks in her system, she set her glass on a nearby table. "Fraser, watch my drink. I have to pee." At that, she disappeared from the area. Fraser watched her go and took little note of the tall, dark haired man who passed behind him and blended away into the crowd. 

Jane returned within minutes and immediately returned to the glass. She took a drink, but thought it tasted a little more sour than when she had left. She stirred it with the straws again and took another drink. Someone bumped into her and she gulped more than she intended, but swallowed it quickly, then let out a little giggle. She looked at the glass and stirred again, then finished it off in another long sip. As she glanced down , she saw the loose laces on her black ankle boots. Bending over, she pulled them tight, but her ID and some money fell from where it was tucked in her bra. She grabbed it and straightened. She held it out to him. "Would you hold this for a minute? I'm going for another," she informed Fraser, who agreed. At the bar, the same dark man in leather stood beside her and nodded at the woman on a seat nearby. She ordered two more amaretto sours. The drinks were mixed and placed on the counter. She held out the money, but the man behind her moved and bumped her. 

"Excuse me," he said as he put his hand on the counter, knocking her change to the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry," he added. 

Jane scowled, but said nothing. She bent down to pick up her change, then straightened. The man had disappeared again. She took the two drinks in hand and headed back to the table. 

"Did you see that?" she asked Fraser as she stirred one of the drinks and took a sip. Fraser handed her ID back to her and tried not to watch her slip it back into her bra. 

"See what?" he responded suspiciously. 

"What were you doing over here?" she asked with skepticism. 

Fraser shook his head, but his honesty got the better of him. "I was looking at the ID. I'm sorry, I know it was none of my..." 

"Whatever," she cut in. "Did you see that guy?" 

"Hmm?" Fraser responded. 

"Never mind," she said, making moments of her first drink and moving on to the second. 

"I'm not sure it's entirely necessary for you to drink those too quickly," Fraser said lightly. 

Jane glanced up at him, but took a moment to focus. She shook her head and drank more of the sour sweet concoction. She took the two cherries and slipped them into her mouth, one after the other, producing tied stems each time before finishing off the second drink. She stood and felt light headed, catching the table to balance herself. Fraser stood also, but she took a deep breath, then smiled reluctantly and decided to check her money status. 

Fraser could see that she was losing her balance, but decided only to take a step closer, available in case she lost her footing again. Soon he would convince her to leave and the incident would be behind them. 

Jane began to feel like she would float soon. She listened to the deep pounding and decided the only solution was to place herself back inside the music. She headed to the main floor with the bright lights bouncing from wall to wall. She led the way quickly through the crowded halls, leaving Fraser several meters behind. He saw her head bob into the room, then lost sight of her immediately. Following the pack, he moved patiently. 

As Jane stepped into the large room and was surrounded on all sides by music and people, she felt a hand grab her arm and tug her to the side. She glanced behind her, but couldn't see Fraser. When she looked at the person holding her arm, she recognized him from the bar and earlier in the night. His dark appearance had been noted. She pulled her arm away and stumbled slightly. He stepped close. "It's all right. I just wanted to get you out of the doorway so I could ask if you wanted to dance." 

She missed most of the words, but caught enough of them to make a decision. He was a handsome man and with his hands held out to her innocently now, she felt relief. She nodded and he began to dance. With each beat, he moved closer, bumping her farther into the crowd. She glanced up and thought she saw Fraser, but he turned away, obviously looking for her. Lifting an arm in an attempt to catch his attention, he looked back in her direction, but the man grabbed her and pushed her deep into the swarm of people. 

Dizziness hitting her like a merry go round, she swallowed hard and tried to pull away from the man. Instead he grabbed her waist and held her tight, guiding her from the other side of the mob, then around them all and out the door. She could not see Fraser anywhere and she couldn't find the strength to pull away. 

The man pushed her firmly down the stairs into the darkness of the basement dance floor. She yelled out, but couldn't be heard over the intense beating and pounding. He shoved her behind the bar and pulled her to the hallway where they were lost in darkness. 

Fraser made his way between the people until he saw an elevated area. He climbed up and squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of every face there. He could not see Jane anywhere. He moved around to the other side of the rise and kept looking. He saw no sign of her, but he did notice a couple corners where people were assembled. Climbing down, he made his way across the expanse and into the corners, but she was not there. 

Jane screamed again, but her voice was lost in the darkness. The man thrust her to the coldness of the floor. Feeling the vibrations on her back, she reached out with her left hand only to find a wall stopping her reach. Extending her right to the other side, she tried desperately to find something to grasp, something to help her. In a moment her arm was pinned by the man's weight. His knee pushed its way between her legs, pressing her left thigh against the wall. His hot hand rubbed up her thigh, soon pushing the bottom edge of her dress around her waist. 

Assuming Jane had gone back for another unneeded drink, Fraser made his way into the bar and sifted through the people. Not finding her there, he headed to the bartender. 

"Do you remember the woman I was with?" The bartender nodded slightly. "Has she been back here within the last few minutes?" 

The man shook his head. "If she comes back, don't let her drink anything," Fraser requested and took a step back, then leaned in again. "And keep her here." 

Jane pushed her assailant, but her muscles felt weak and she couldn't manage to make a fist. She tried to scream once more, but the sound was stuck in her throat. Trying not to focus, all of her muscles unconsciously tensed. She kicked once with her right and continued to shove at him, cringing at the sounds of tearing fabric and the man unzipping his pants. As his hand was distracted, she was able to convince her hand to smack him across the face. 

The man growled and raised his torso slightly, but was still on her and held her with one hand. She struggled in the weak moment, but was immediately stopped as she felt something cold and sharp against her cheek. It ran down her neck and to her chest where it stopped. The man leaned in and she felt his hot breath on her ear. "Keep it up and I'll shove this through your heart, bitch," he hissed, scraping the blade against her skin slightly. Her flesh suddenly froze and she slammed her left hand against the wall, desperately seeking enough leverage to crawl out of her skin. 

Fraser felt the pounding in his veins as he looked nervously through the darkness of the basement dance floor. Fewer people moved through the dim lighting than before so he walked in and out of the people, examining each as he passed them. 

Jane's struggles had became lighter, more because her head was spinning than due to the threat. The sounds of their bodies seemed louder than the beats of the music and she began to feel sick. She could hear his breathing in her ear and his weight began to feel more and more heavy. She felt his repugnant body moving against hers and tugged her arms, but could not free them. Frantically trying to get air, her lungs would not take it in. He felt heavier upon her as she tensed her hand into a claw. Still she could not breath and the lack of oxygen added to the dizziness. Trying to find strength to scream, she found her throat burning. Heavier still upon her, she panted and gasped, her tightened muscles ready to burst. 

It seemed an eternity before he stopped moving and rolled off of her. Though it was dark, she caught a glimmer of the knife in his hand as he zipped his pants. She felt more than heard his footsteps leaving the area. There she lay, stunned, cold, and humiliated for several moments before rolling to her side. She pushed up on one arm giving herself just enough support as she vomited across the floor. She coughed and lost the use of her arm, falling back to the floor. She pushed her eyes close hoping it would push the event from her, but her skin remembered. Her hips burned and she realized there must have been scratches. Her body ached and the filth she felt inside made its way to her skin. She brushed at her arms and legs before finding the strength to stand. She used the wall to help herself up, but when she tried to stand on her own, she fell back to her knees. Using the wall again, she lifted herself to her feet and kept a hand on the wall to guide herself back to the main area. As she stumbled into the flashing lights, she thought she could see Fraser. She moved slowly until she neared him before he turned around. 

"Jane?" he yelled over the music. Jane touched his arm and started away from the dancing. As they got to the hall near the bar, Fraser stopped. "I don't think you should have another drink," he said firmly. 

"We're leaving," she replied, but when he didn't move, she repeated herself. "We're leaving right fucking now!" Every word she spoke was accompanied by a weak slap to Fraser's chest, as if physical attacks would make the point somehow clearer. Fraser didn't argue with her, because he was just as anxious to leave this unfamiliar and uncomfortable environment as she was. The pair made their way through the crowd, Jane allowing herself to be led out. 

Outside the club, Jane tossed her car keys to Fraser and they both climbed into her car. When she sat down, she pulled her skirt as far down as possible, for what reason she couldn't decide. When Fraser started the car, the power locks slammed closed, causing Jane to jump off her seat. 

The sudden exposure to the cold night air took the edge off of Jane's awareness. As her 65 proof haze dissipated slightly, the knowledge of what had happened moved into the forefront of her consciousness and she felt suddenly uneasy locked in a car with Fraser. She tried to mentally shake the thought from herself. After all, it was Fraser, a friend. A fellow Mountie. A good man. 

And she had no reason to fear him. 

Or did she? 

It made no sense to her, nothing seemed to right now. All she knew was that she wanted out of the car so badly that her skin began to tingle. The trip home passed far too slowly. 

11:45 PM 

In the parking garage underneath her building, it had taken a supreme effort of will to convince Fraser that she was able to get upstairs on her own. As she rode up the elevator, she was joined by a couple who lived on the floor above her. Even while acknowledging each other's presence, Jane slowly backed into the corner. After a seemingly unending ascent, the doors had opened and Jane rushed out, glad that the hallway to her door was abandoned. 

Jane slammed the door to her apartment behind her and threw the deadbolt. It latched audibly. Next she put the chain in place. Resting her back against the door, she stared into the dark for a moment, glad to be safely alone. Toeing off her ankle boots, she hit the closest light switch, illuminating the lamp on a nearby end table. Once again assured that she was alone, her hands went to the lacing on the front of her dress. Normally nimble fingers, now numbed because of shock and alcohol, fumbled with the laces for a minute before finally undoing them. Letting her dress drop to the floor, she stepped out of it and began walking towards the bathroom, shedding clothes as she went. 

Turning on the water, she stepped into the shower, not even desiring to wait for the water to warm up. Reaching for the soap, she stopped herself. Washing would destroy the vital evidence needed to build a criminal case against her attacker. Years of police work told her this. Yet, many more years of womanhood told her that she had to be clean as soon as possible. Without much of a struggle, her humanity won out over her professionalism. As steam began to swirl around her, she washed. 

Wrapped in an old bathrobe, Jane was curled on her couch. The television was on, but she wasn't watching anything in particular. All she wanted was the noise in the background; it was too quiet otherwise. The main attraction of the moment sat in a bottle on the coffee table in front of her. 

A bottle of Seagram's Seven Crown sat next to a glass, although she had been drinking straight from the bottle for some time now. Clustered next to some magazines were a number of empty Molson bottles and half a bottle of Johnny Walker, which had been full when she'd gotten home. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd gotten out of the shower, but she knew she'd been drinking ever since. 

So far, only three things were compelling enough reasons for her to get off the couch. She went to the kitchen for more beer, the liquor cabinet for more booze, and the bathroom to vomit. 

Downing another round of Seagram's, she focused hazy eyes on the digital clock on the VCR. She wasn't quite able to make out the tiny, red numbers, but after a minute, or maybe ten (she couldn't tell), she decided it said something around 4:15 in the morning. 

Reaching over, Jane clumsily knocked the phone off the base, to prevent anybody from calling her. Grabbing the rapidly diminishing bottle of Seven Crown, she stood, though only by a great effort. Shuffling carefully into the bedroom, she made her way around piles of clothing to her bed. Taking one last drink from the bottle, she set it down on the nightstand, dropped her robe to the floor, and climbed into bed. The sheets were refreshingly cold against her bare skin, but she was asleep before she could even care. 

Sunday  
Jane tossed about in her bed wildly, racked by nightmares. All day long her uneasy sleep had been punctuated by horrible dreams. Her attempts to drink the events of Friday evening into oblivion had failed and every last detail of the attack haunted her sleep. The man in the basement room would push her down. Then he'd lift her dress and rape her again. Every time that happened, she'd wake up in a pool of sweat, shaking violently. Reaching to the nightstand, she'd take another swig of Seven Crown and shove her head back into the sheets. 

The moment she'd fall asleep, the nightmare would start again. 

When she awoke from another round with her dream, she reached for the bottle, only to find it now empty. Forcing her eyes open slightly, she could make out the dim light of the sun through the closed curtains. Her first thought was that it was morning, but a glance at the clock next to her told her that it was sunset. Fighting her way out of the twisted sheets, Jane put her feet on the floor, and stood up slowly. Making her way into the bathroom, she turned on the light. She instantly regretted it, moving her hands to cover her eyes from the painful brightness. Looking into the mirror, she saw a horrible figure. 

Staring back at her were two very bloodshot eyes, put off by splotchy bags underneath them. Her skin was pale, even lighter then her normal shade, and her hair was a tangled mess, unlike the carefully set hair she'd given herself last time she looked in this mirror. Her chest and arms were covered in a number of small bruises, and the skin below her neck was scraped from the attacker's knife. As she ran her fingers over the damaged skin, she could see her hand shaking. It wasn't major, but it was enough to be noticeable. 

Turning away from the horrible reflected image, Jane made her way back into the bedroom, scooping the bathrobe off the floor. Slipping into it, she tied it shut as she sat down at her desk. With her unsteady hand, she opened her journal, and began writing. Her longhand came out shaky and her words would have failed any English teacher's check for grammar, punctuation, or coherent sentence construction. Words, however, began to flow from the pen she held. The events of the previous night appeared on the paper, to the best of her recollection. Fragments about the club, the attack, and her emotions fell into place, reminding her of what had happened again, although she had no ability to forget it. 

When she couldn't write anything else, she closed the book and, resting her elbows on the desk, placed her head in her hands. Her body was again racked by a dizziness she'd never felt before, even during other drinking binges. Practically falling out of the chair, she miraculously made it back into her bed, where she fell asleep again. 

Monday   
5:15 AM 

The clock radio on the night table began the same horrid noise it produced every weekday morning. Jane reached out from under the sheets to turn the music down and straggled out of bed. The only thing she remembered doing the day before was drinking coffee straight from the pot and eating some week-old pizza as well as setting her alarm for work. 

By now, most of the alcohol had been purged from her system, leaving behind only a massive hangover and the memory of her attack behind. Trying to put it out of her mind for the moment, she began to get ready for the day. After showering and forcing down some toast and coffee, she dressed for another Monday in the service of her country through the filing of paperwork. 

Going to her closet, she pulled out a pair of brown serge trousers (she couldn't even fathom wearing a skirt), a shirt, and a carefully tailored, fitted brown jacket. Buttoning the shirt and tucking them into the trousers, she dug through her dresser and pulled out a brown necktie, which she put on. After buttoning her tunic, she grabbed her Sam Browne and put it on, adjusting the cross strap so that it wouldn't cut down on her bruised shoulder. She then sat down on the edge of the bed. Pulling on a pair of RCMP-issue Oxfords, she grabbed a polishing cloth and began working it over the toes. 

After a few minutes, the many layers of polish blended together to make a smooth surface. In the toe she could see her reflected face, covered with make-up to look presentable. Staring back from the shoe was an outwardly appearing Constable of the highest order. Her shoes, she knew, didn't need to be buffed, but she relished it for its familiarity. Upon closer examination, the leather underneath the many layers of polish was cracked, scuffed, and in generally poor shape, although the outward appearance would pass the harshest Regimental Sergeant-Major's inspection. These shoes, she knew, had worked too many night shifts, had chased too many lowlife scumbags through alleys, had been through so much. Somehow, for a moment, she felt she understood her shoes, if such a thing were possible. 

After tossing the cloth onto her night table, careful to not get polish on anything, she stood and crossed the floor to her dresser. Opening the top drawer, she removed the last accessory to make her uniform complete. Pulling back the slide on her 9-mm Beretta, she checked to see that it was empty. Once she was sure, she released the slide, and slammed a 15-round clip home, chambering a round. Checking the safety, she took one quick practice aim at the wall. The pistol was comfortably heavy and familiar in her hands. Securing the pistol in the holster of her Sam Browne, she placed two extra clips in the magazine pouch of her belt and grabbed her Stetson to leave. 

It was, after all, just another Monday in Chicago. A business day. 

7:20 AM 

Climbing the stairs to the old country house turned Canadian Consulate, Jane pulled open the wooden door, starting her day. As with every other day, there was Constable Turnbull, sitting at his desk. It half seemed to Jane that he lived at that spot, unable to leave. 

"Good morning, Constable McDermon!" His perky voice cut through the stillness of the hall and into Jane's massive headache, causing her to wince in pain. 

"Yes, Turnbull, it is morning. It is too early in the morning and it's been a long weekend. So, Constable McDermon will be sitting in the dark in her office with the door closed because she has a hangover. Hold my calls. Thank you." She smiled all too beguilingly, convincing the slow-witted Constable at the desk to do exactly what she said. 

Quietly closing the door to her small office, she rummaged through the pencil drawer of her desk. Pulling out a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, she downed a pair of the red and yellow gel caps with the last of the coffee in her McDonald's cup. Sitting down, she dropped her nylon briefcase next to the wastepaper basket and began organizing her papers into levels of priority, with the morning dispatches from Ottawa and Regina on top. Time would pass slowly, with her jumping every time the small door was opened. Usually it was Turnbull or one of the administrative staff delivering or picking up paperwork. 

It was slow going, trying to muddle through the paperwork that Fraser and Turnbull, as the senior Deputy Liaison Officers didn't have to deal with. Many of the forms had to be filled out in careful longhand and every mistake brought a flurry of cursing and a small bottle of Whiteout. 

On the wall next to her, the standard RCMP-issue clock ticked off the endless seconds. 

1:00 PM 

The office seemed more cramped after lunch. Perhaps it was the hour outside the confines of work. Jane spent her lunch at the local YMCA, swimming laps. It was both a way to blow of steam and practice, even though swimming was no longer in her job requirements. Grabbing McDonalds on the way back to the Consulate, she settled back into her office exactly on time. Jane wasn't about to piss the Inspector off today. 

Unwrapping her second hamburger, she pushed aside a stack of RCMP-314.3 forms aside to eat. Without a knock, the door slowly creaked open. She immediately tensed up, moving one hand slowly towards the brown holster on her hip. The wooden door was still swinging open when Jane jumped from a wet contact against her hand. Letting out a small yelp, her eyes snapped down to the white wolf that was sniffing her hand. 

"Diefenbaker, you damned wolf! Don't scare me like that!" The lupine expression staring up at her didn't change for a moment. He just sat down, and sniffed her hand again. "Ahhh! I see what you're smelling." Taking the greasy fast food off its wrapper, she pulled the burger in half. Dropping one of the halves onto the plastic floor mat under her chair, she quickly pulled her hand back as Diefenbaker lunged at the offering. When he was done, he looked up hungrily at Jane, who'd already begun eating the second half. Being a sucker for cute animals, however, compelled her to drop the rest of her lunch to the hungry wolf next to her. 

Tossing the garbage into the wastebasket, she wiped her hands on a napkin and settled back to work. As she pulled out another form to sign off on (lesser forms were often filled out by low-level Consular employees, then bumped up to a Constable to officially sign), she felt movement below her. Under the desk, Diefenbaker crawled beneath her legs and then curled around her ankles, finally laying down at the toe of her shoes and closing his eyes for a nap after his pilfered meal. Jane tried to suppress a giggle and went back to her papers, occasionally rubbing Dief's soft belly with the toe of her shoe. 

5:00 PM 

Fraser heard the sound of the grandfather clock chiming away the hours and took a quick glimpse at his watch. He let out a breath and took a survey of his work. There wasn't much left to be done before the reports were due on Wednesday morning and it could easily be finished with half an effort. Satisfied that he had done a good job, he stood and slid his coat on with ease. Walking around his desk, he looked for Diefenbaker, but the wolf was not by the door. A quizzical look crossing his face, he went to the hall, but could not see his companion waiting as he expected at this hour. 

At once, he recalled seeing Dief follow Jane as she took some papers to the copy room earlier, so he took quick steps to the door of Jane's office and knocked softly. 

Jane jumped from her seat at the sound, dropping her pen and sending papers to the floor. "Come in," she said with exasperation as she squatted and began picking up the papers. At the turning of the knob, Diefenbaker climbed out from under Jane's desk and moved beside her. 

The moment Fraser realized Jane's situation he bent beside her and started picking up papers. "I'm sorry, Jane. I was just looking for Diefenbaker." 

Jane reached out and grabbed the papers from his hands. "Leave it," she snapped harshly. "I can keep it more organized if I do it myself, thank you very much." 

Fraser looked up as Dief moved around to stand in front of Jane. The term organized was not the word he would have used to describe her office, but he knew the point was in her tone. 

"I apologize," Fraser repeated. 

Jane sighed as she stood and placed the stack of papers on her desk. "It's not your fault. You just startled me," her voice was toneless, now, as she sat down again and began looking over the papers. 

"Diefenbaker, it's time to go," he enunciated to the animal, who stood firm. Jane glanced at the half-wolf and waited, but he made no movement. "Diefenbaker," Fraser repeated, but Dief replied by sitting on his haunches. "I won't ask you again," Fraser said firmly and the wolf answered with slow movement to the underside of Jane's desk where he laid across her feet and stuck his head out from the other side. 

Fraser took a step back and took in the scene with Jane and Diefenbaker. "Come," he said definitively and waited. 

Jane cleared her throat. "He's all right." 

"Perhaps," Fraser replied, "but it's time for us to leave." He turned his eyes back to Dief. "Come on, now. What do you expect? Constable McDermon has better things to do than to look after you." 

Jane cleared her throat again. "Actually," she said with melancholy character. She let the silence build a moment before adding, "Not that I have better things, but he's been," she paused as the word 'comfort' was stuck in her throat. "He's been no trouble at all. He's been quiet." She took a moment to imagine Diefenbaker curled up at her feet on the bed and felt a feeling of warmth and safety come over her. Fraser shifted slightly. 

"Ray is coming to take us to dinner tonight," Fraser said feebly. "I don't want to make him wait." 

"It's all right." Jane looked at her watch and smiled a little. "I can take care of him - at least until I leave." 

Fraser looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, Ray said we might be out late this evening. You see, he'll need food before it gets too late and I have nothing here for him to eat." 

Jane straightened. "Then I'll take him home with me." 

Fraser ran a thumbnail along his brow. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be all right in the Consulate alone." 

Jane took in a deep breath. "I'd like to take him. I'll make sure he gets a good meal and a warm bed for the night." Seeing Fraser not quite convinced, she worked to up the ante. "Plus, you'll be on Thatcher's shit list for sure if she finds wolf hairs in the Queen's Bed." 

Fraser chuckled. "He'll have your warm bed if he has anything to say about it. I couldn't impose." 

Diefenbaker whimpered and Jane smiled. "I think you've been outvoted anyway." 

Fraser nodded, but still felt unsure of the decision. Jane stood and placed some papers on top of her filing cabinet. He noted that she seemed determined, but she also appeared more relaxed. He hadn't seen her relaxed since those last drinks on Friday night and it was beginning to bother him. He waited for Jane to acknowledge him again, but she didn't. "I really should be going." 

Jane nodded. "Well, then, go." She never turned to face him when she spoke, she just kept filing. 

Fraser stood longer, expecting Jane to say something more, but when she didn't, he left her office and quietly closed the door. 

"It took long enough to get rid of him," Jane said under her breath, to which Diefenbaker replied with a grunt. "You think so, too, huh?" she said quietly, sifting through the papers and putting them back into the order she needed them. 

An occasional soft breath from the relaxed animal at her feet kept her company for the next hour until she felt she had completed sufficient work to keep herself from Thatcher's reprimand list for the day. At that, she put on her coat and was followed from the Consulate by a deaf half-wolf companion. 

After filling Diefenbaker with leftovers from her refrigerator and having a conservative meal to herself, Jane folded her arms. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to remember the man's face. Instead she became aware of an incredibly painful bruise and then her image flashed on the moment she had received it. She was disturbed that she couldn't remember a face, but she felt his elbow press into her skin as if it was happening all over again. Letting out a small gasp, she opened her eyes and walked to the bathroom where the mirror showed her a weary vision. Diefenbaker padded into the room beside her and placed his paws on the vanity, looking solemnly at her. On his hind legs, Dief was well past her waist. 

"It's like you know, isn't it?" she asked his reflection and was retorted with a firm bark. She smiled slightly, feeling reassured and straightened the waistband of her uniform pants. "Hmm," she let slip aloud, perhaps to the wolf beside her, as she tucked her shirt back into her pants and went to the main room to get her jacket. "Are you coming?" she said to him as she opened the door to her apartment and waited. 

The parking lot of the club was nearly deserted as Jane pulled into the gravel-covered space. Her shoes were noiseless against the asphalt and she had trouble convincing herself that this was the next logical step. 

Diefenbaker entered the establishment ahead of Jane and was stopped just inside by a large man with a hand stamp. "No dogs," he said, then looked up and saw the uniform. "What are you? Rent-a-cop or something?" 

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police," she replied. "He's not a dog and he's with me." 

"Looks like a dog." He paused. "Official police business?" 

"Sure," Jane replied and boldly walked past the man with no more conversation. 

Diefenbaker waited for Jane to catch up, then followed her as she went into the bar and began looking around. The bartender was different, she was certain right away, but there was a small group in the bar drinking. She both hoped to and feared recognizing one of the people, so she walked slowly around the outside of the room. As she neared the door again the group stood, one by one, and then they passed her in a congregation. She glanced at the bartender who was watching her. 

Making her way to the upper dance floor, she stopped in the doorway. It was here he had grabbed her and pulled her to the dance floor. It was here she had made the foolish mistake of feeling safe with the evil fiend. She wandered slowly through the small groups and limited number of people, searching every face for something familiar. She would see a black leather jacket and would pray that he would turn and she would know him instantly. She needed a face to put to her demon. Still, no one provided the needed peace so she went back to the basement where the deep industrial music blared. 

She felt the booming of the bass and froze in the doorway. Upstairs there had been a moment of doubt, but here she was met with a moment of clarity. It was dark and she could barely see anything around her, let alone examine the people in the room. She took a deep breath and started walking around. She let the dark beat of the music into her soul and stood at the opposite side of the room watching as people moved around, came, left, and occasionally returned. 

One song drifted into the next and she felt it tugging her. It was there, only meters from her, the scene of the crime. She looked in the direction where the darkened hallway entered into the room and the music drifted away as she could only hear her breath and feel her heartbeat. Diefenbaker stood near, but she was completely oblivious. 

An internal struggle began, both pulling her near and tearing her away as she stepped warily toward the hallway. Reaching into her Sam Browne, she pulled out a small flashlight and shone it down into the darkness. Her heart skipped a beat and she was confronted with herself, her screams that went unnoticed, her pain, her fear. Diefenbaker barked, snapping her back into a reality where she suddenly realized she hadn't taken a breath for several seconds, leaving her feeling lightheaded. She gasped and stepped back from the hallway. She had seen it, now. In the dim light of the mini beam, she had seen nothing except an abandoned hallway. 

Turning on her heel, she quickly left the club, her companion padding quickly behind. Once in the relative safety of her car, she put the key into the ignition and found her hands shaking. She clasped them together and looked at Diefenbaker. Locking the door, she tossed her Stetson on the dashboard and rested her forehead against the cool plastic steering wheel. After a moment, she had calmed slightly and started the car. Before long she was home and as she hurried inside where she locked the door securely and dropped her keys. 

"Dammit," she breathed to the only ears in the room. Consumed with intense frustration, she closed her eyes again and leaned her back on the wall. Still, after all that, she couldn't see his face. She slid down the wall and hugged her knees. He was there, tugging her, pushing her, but he still didn't have a face. She grunted her frustration aloud and, in return, got a warm nuzzle from this evening's companion. 

Tuesday  
5:15 AM 

As the alarm clock made it's ritualistic morning sounds, Jane opened her eyes slowly. She forced her eyes open when she realized that she wasn't alone in bed, until her brain woke enough to remind herself that she had brought Diefenbaker home with her. Feeling suddenly wobbly, she glanced at her bed companion and found that he had pushed her to the very edge of the bed. One wrong move and she would find herself on the hard floor. Lifting herself into a reclining position, she tapped the sleeping wolf with her foot. 

"Hey Dief. Diefenbaker. Wake up, boy." With a groggy lupine yawn, Diefenbaker stretched up on his front legs, working the kinks out of his back. When he was good and ready to do so, he jumped to the floor, allowing Jane to secure a more stable perch under the blankets. Not being able to easily shift positions in her sleep on account of the presence of an extra warm body, Jane had slept wrong and some of her bruises were throbbing in a way that worked far better than any alarm to wake her. After a moment's reflection, Jane reached over to turn the volume on the radio down to a normal level and listened to the morning news, traffic, and weather while beginning her morning. 

While walking back and forth from closet to dresser and back while dressing, Jane had to repeatedly step over or around Diefenbaker. No matter where she went, the half-wolf kept within three or four steps. 

"You know, Dief, the last time a male of any species paid this much attention to me was...well...I don't even know. Why, if I weren't so sure, I'd say you're trying to be downright smooth..." While fussing with her necktie, Jane found herself rambling to him. 

"But you know, it wouldn't work, between you and me. I mean, you're old school, I'm new. You're a Progressive, I'm a Conservative. I'm a swimmer, you're a hunter. I like pizza, and you...well...you eat everything, so I guess that'd work. But still, I'm a human, you're a wolf.... 

"And most importantly...You're a little rock and roll. Me, I'm a little country. So what say we just stay friends, eh?" Reaching over, she vigorously scratched the wolf between his ears. "Well, let's get to work before the Inspector has one of us for breakfast..." 

Jane sat at her desk and looked at the plethora of work before her. It would be a long day, but as usual, she would get just enough done. From one envelope, she removed a thirty-page report, which she was supposed to read carefully then present to the Inspector in only five minutes. Leaning over her desk, she felt increasing pain so she held the paper before her eyes and leaned back in her chair. 

Before she had read a full sentence, the paper became less important to the flashes of images in her mind. She was oblivious to the tiny confines of the office, feeling more cramped by the darkness in her flashbacks while the nearby wall kept her incapacitated on one side. Her fingers ached as she clawed and her muscles tensed. 

There was a loud clang and Jane flashed back into the present. Outside her door she heard Turnbull apologize for his clumsy nature and Jane realized that every muscle in her body was frozen. She let out a breath and began to relax, but she knew these moments were only going to continue. She pulled a notebook from the top right-hand drawer and flipped it open to a blank page. Making a number of scribbles she was certain that the only way to put this to rest was to find the man who had done it to her and make him pay. She found herself full of intense anger, but also full of doubt. After making no progress on her own, one thought now occurred to her. She needed help. Without admitting it to herself, she admitted to the notebook that what she wanted desperately now was to trust someone with this agonizing secret and get that person's help in deciding the next step. 

There was only one person she trusted enough to tell any hidden details about herself and she was far from certain that she could unload this upon him. She wouldn't tell him, she concluded painfully. Instead, she would see what he could remember of the evening and find some shred to follow. There had to be something she was missing and perhaps he had that clue. 

Diefenbaker followed Jane as she stepped into the hallway where she found Turnbull picking up the pieces of a broken crystal vase. Stepping over the mess and around the Constable, Jane went directly to Fraser's office and knocked softly on the door. 

"Come in," she heard before turning the knob. Immediately, Diefenbaker pushed his way into the room and went straight to Fraser for a momentary cuddle. Fraser greeted his familiar with a scratch behind the ear and looked up at Jane. "I hope he wasn't too much trouble." 

"None at all," she replied. "Mind if I sit?" Barely waiting a reply, she sat across from him. She seemed to fix her attention on a minor detail on the front of Fraser's desk. 

Fraser nodded and Diefenbaker, who had now decided he was still loved, walked back beside Jane and sat on his haunches. Jane shifted in her seat and squinted as she heard a pop from her back. "I told you he would have your bed," Fraser said. 

Jane nodded. "It's ok. It was....comforting to have some company last night. Fights the loneliness. Do you have a few moments?" 

"Certainly," Fraser replied as he placed his pen back into the cup at the edge of his desk. 

Jane smirked. There were only 90-degree angles on his desk, a far cry from her own. "You remember Friday night?" 

Fraser furrowed his brow and nodded. "Of course." 

"Well, I," she paused. "I lost something there that night. I mean, I think it was stolen. I wondered if you remembered some details." Taking in a small breath, she continued. "Maybe you remember something that will help." 

"I'll try," Fraser replied. "What was it?" 

Jane straightened. "It's not important." Looking from item to item on his desk organizer, Jane tried to speak clearly, but was simultaneously being harassed by her pained thoughts. "You remember I went to get a drink?" 

"I recall several," Fraser said, the disappointment appearing slightly in his words. 

"No, I meant the last drinks? I asked you if you had seen the man who was talking to me?" 

Fraser thought a moment and remembered her asking, but he hadn't been watching her. Curiosity over her age and height as recorded on her ID had gotten the better of him and he still regretted it. "You asked if I had seen something. Was it a man?" 

Jane sighed. "There was a man there. Dark hair, black leather jacket." Realizing quickly that there had been a number of people there to fit the description, she decided to add information to see if he could recall. "He might have been watching us - me. Maybe he was trying to scope me out for my," suddenly aware that she had to place an object for his theft, she was stuck. "Uh, necklace," she finally choked out. "I think he followed us - me, to see if he could steal it." 

Fraser placed the pictures of the evening back into his mind to see if he could recall seeing such a man, but noticed something else instead. "You weren't wearing a necklace." 

Jane swallowed. "Yes, I was," she said quickly. 

Fraser saw that she was intimidated and lying. "Did something happen?" he asked boldly, then quickly felt remorse for speaking before considering the question more deeply. 

"Yes," Jane replied firmly. "I had something stolen." 

"But not a necklace," Fraser added. 

"It was some money, then. Do you remember seeing anything out of the ordinary?" 

Fraser leaned back slightly. Nearly everything about the scene was out of the ordinary for him. Still, he couldn't recall anything that may have led to someone stealing her money. "It appeared to me that your money was safe from vandals." He paused, choosing his next words carefully and tugging at his collar. "You had it....tucked away, didn't you?" 

Jane let out a breath. "Yes," she said, seeing that his cross-examination was of little help. 

"No, in fact," he continued, "it should have been quite safe. Perhaps you moved it during the time we lost each other." 

"You didn't notice anything bizarre? Maybe while I was gone?" 

"The only thing that seemed odd to me," Fraser replied, "was the way you disappeared in the crowd. I had assumed we would not be separating for the duration of the evening. When you returned, you seemed ill. Were you sick?" When his response was silence, he moved on. "Perhaps it was all those drinks. You had them in such quick succession, it seemed." 

Jane caught her hand twitching when Dief leaned over and put his head upon it. "Yeah, it must have been the drinks." 

"Yet, you seemed distant when you arrived at work Monday morning. In fact, you seemed tense and distracted." 

Jane flinched. "How observant of you, Constable Holmes" she replied coldly, defensively. "Look, if you can't remember anything, I'll be on my way." 

As she started to stand, sending Dief to his feet also, Fraser knew he had to stop her. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't stupid. He knew something was wrong. He wanted to tell her to confide in him, but knew he couldn't make her do anything she didn't wish to do. Instead he blurted "Don't," into the quiet air and held out his hand. 

Jane stopped, standing in front of the chair where she had just been. She looked at Fraser, waiting to see what he would add. 

Fraser was disturbed that he had little more to say. Every reaction seemed to conjure a reason not to say it so he toed the line into the unfamiliar territory slowly. "Please, sit down," he said. Jane sat slowly, Diefenbaker slowly relaxing beside her. Fraser took in a deep breath and tried his best to say what he knew he had to. "I think it's time you tell me what's going on." Jane didn't respond at first, but he could see the fear and distress in her eyes. "Perhaps we can work together to find the man who stole your money." 

Jane looked at the neat stack of papers on his desk, then back to Fraser. "I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure that you want me to." 

Fraser placed his hands on the desk and looked deep into her expressions. "I'm sure that I do." 

Jane took in as much air as she could and began slowly. "There was a man at the bar. He knocked my change onto the floor. I didn't pay much attention, but after I had my drinks and we went back to the dance floor you lost me." She paused. "Maybe I lost you, I don't know, but he grabbed me and took me into the crowd." 

She could no longer force herself to make eye contact, afraid of what Fraser would think of her, uncomfortable with what she had to say, and angered that it had even happened. She told him as much of her plight as she could manage, the hallway, the man's strong hands. As she relayed the actual rape to him, her voice was quivering uncontrollably and she felt as though her insides would shake their way out. Feeling almost as though she were reliving it yet again, she felt cold, pain, and the filth grew in her mind and on her body. Summoning up some untapped reserve of inner strength, she continued on. 

Fraser didn't move or speak the entire time she told of her ordeal. He couldn't even think of what might be an appropriate response. 

"He left a good minute or two before I came out and found you," she said finally, running her hand along Diefenbaker's head and back for comfort. 

Fraser sat quiet a moment, letting it sink in. "I didn't see anyone," he said at last. "I was trying to find you and while I recall the number of people dancing and the people coming and going from the room, I do not recall seeing anyone leaving in a suspicious manner or in a leather jacket." Seeing, now, that his memory was no longer what Jane was looking for, he stood. "Did you go to the hospital after I left you at your apartment?" 

Jane shook her head. 

"When did you go?" he asked, knowing typical procedure. 

Jane swallowed. "I didn't," she said quickly. 

Fraser straightened. "You didn't go that night or you didn't go at all?" 

"I didn't go at all," she said, slightly fierce that she had been forced to admit it again. 

Fraser stood rapidly. "Then I think we should go see a doctor right now." 

"It's too late," Jane said, standing also. "By now the evidence is gone." 

"Perhaps," Fraser said quickly, but was determined now that he had found some outlet for the internal struggle. "Still, I think it would be best if we left right away." 

"I told you, Fraser, it's too late," she repeated as Fraser passed her and opened the door, waiting for her to exit his office. 

Jane walked belligerently past him and stopped in the hallway. "We have work," she countered. "How do you expect to dodge that?" 

Fraser stepped beside her, then stopped also. "I'm sure if we just explain..." 

Jane jumped. "Explain?" she exclaimed. "I'm not telling anyone else and neither are you. Listen, Fraser, I do not want this to become public knowledge. I don't even know if I should have told you. Do I make myself clear?" 

Fraser nodded slowly. "Still, it is important that we get you to a doctor as soon as possible." 

"Fine," Jane said, knowing Fraser wouldn't bend. "Then I'll go talk to the Inspector and get it cleared, all right?" 

Fraser agreed and watched Jane walk hurriedly toward the Inspector's door and knock firmly. In only a few moments she returned and nodded. "The Inspector has given us the afternoon." 

Surprised, Fraser began toward the door beside Jane. "The entire afternoon?" 

"Sure," Jane replied. "I spoke with her bluntly and she understood." He didn't need to know, she concluded, that the conversation had revolved around lost reports filed between Ottawa and the Illinois State Departments. The Inspector would never know that those reports were tucked safely on her desk beneath the far right pile where only Jane could find them. 

As Jane drove, she searched for something to say. She felt some talking was in order, whether it be work related or small talk, but she was blank and could think of nothing. Instead her mind was stuck obsessing about details. She hadn't told Fraser that she couldn't remember his face yet and had left out other details she felt uncomfortable sharing. 

Fraser, in the passenger seat, wanted to say something comforting, but he'd never been very good at that. Instead he took the logical route. He considered the steps necessary to bring the culprit to justice. He knew sharing her intimate details was not something he would be permitted or qualified to do. Knowing full well that Jane would be reluctant, he simply had to get her to feel comfortable coming forward. They couldn't let this man get away with his crimes. Fraser was aware of the incredibly high statistics of rapists who get away with their crimes simply because the victims were too humiliated, scared, or horrified to talk. 

The two uniformed officers walked into the doctor's office calmly. This was the recommended MD for all Canadian Consular staff, but Jane felt slightly apprehensive. It was a long, uneasy wait before the doctor had an opening and Fraser waited in the tweed-covered seat while Jane disappeared behind the receptionists counter. 

Jane shifted anxiously on the exam table as Dr. Campana opened a file and sat on the small stool. "What seems to be the trouble today?" he asked as he scribbled a note inside. 

"Um," she said softly before straightening. This was going to be difficult, she knew, blurting it out to someone she didn't know or trust completely. Without thinking, she let the words spill forth, making the situation bearable by speaking quickly and coldly. "I have this headache and I've been feeling jittery. Last Friday," she coughed, then continued her babbling. "I was raped and we were hoping to see if any evidence was left and the other day I had this horrible stomach ache." She snapped her jaw closed and waited, her insides jumping slightly as she waited for a response. 

The doctor sat quietly a moment, then set down his pen. "You realize the chances of finding anything this far after the event are very slim?" Jane nodded her response. "Well, let's see what we see then, shall we?" Jane nodded again. 

Fraser flipped open a magazine and was confronted with a news article about the best and worst dressed celebrities. He set it quickly back on the coffee table before him and began looking through the small pile for something more his speed. 

After several moments he found a National Geographic and opened it to an article about Antarctica. The pictures of snow blowing in the wind made him smile and forget why he was here. 

Jane was putting her jacket back on when Dr. Campana finished his scribbles and turned to her. "I'll look at these samples through a microscope, but it appears all we have are vaginal tears which, of course, can result from something far more simple." He closed the file and pushed it back on the small desk. "You talked about a headache and some other odd feelings. I'm certain those are just related to the stress of the situation, but I should ask if you've experienced these symptoms before." 

Jane clamped her hands into fists as she felt the fingers becoming cold suddenly. "No," she responded in trepidation. "Usually when I am under a lot of stress my muscles get tense. I usually get a stiff neck or back, but it goes away quickly." 

"Hmm," he doctor responded. "I think I'd like to take some blood; is that all right?" 

Jane shifted. "Why?" 

"Well, sometimes in these cases you can pick up a disease or it can set of a chain reaction in the body. I'd just like to be on the safe side." He paused. "Please remove your jacket," he said as he washed his hands and put on a fresh pair of gloves. 

Fraser finished the article and set the magazine back on the table. He looked to where Jane had disappeared, then leaned back and closed his eyes. Perhaps they could use what memories she had to compose a sketch, he thought. There had to be something there to work with. 

A moment later he heard the soft footfalls of Jane's steps and looked up. She was just walking from the office, solemnly making her way toward Fraser. "Let's go," she said quickly as she passed him and opened the door. 

Fraser stood quickly and followed Jane who had already unlocked her car door. As they pulled out of the parking lot, hitting the deep gutter with a slight jolt, Fraser turned to Jane. "We should work on a composite sketch," he said decisively. 

Jane shook her head. "Can't." 

"Why won't you?" 

"I said can't, not won't. When I was asking you if you remembered him it was because," she felt uneasy admitting that she had obviously been less than attentive to this Mountie who could take photos in his mind and recall the most minute details on a moment's notice. She took in a deep breath and stared ahead at the road. "Because I can't remember." 

"I think the parts you don't remember may come to you if we work on the parts you do remember," Fraser coaxed. 

"You don't get it, Fraser. I've been over the details a thousand times. I've had a hell of a lot more time to ponder this than you, okay? I can't remember. I don't remember a single damn thing about how he looks. I remember a leather jacket, but what good does that do?" She emphasized the question with a slap to the steering wheel. 

"Do you suppose you would recall if you saw a picture?" 

Jane shrugged. She didn't know anything anymore. It wasn't like her to be forgetful of details or to feel so off. She couldn't even forget what had happened to her when she tried to. Everything about her was wrong and she felt like her insides were crawling 24 hours a day. 

"Why don't we go to the 27th precinct? We'll visit Ray and look over some mug shots." 

"No," Jane snapped. 

Fraser realized her concern with the idea immediately and touched her shoulder. "We don't have to tell him anything you don't want to. We'll just go over the mug shots to see if anything rings a bell." Jane fought the urge to pull her shoulder away from him. 

After a moment's consideration, she relaxed slightly. "All right," she said, yielding to him, something she was doing all too frequently as of late. 

2:30 PM 

Ray Kowalski was leaning over his desk arranging his folders and paperwork into piles, digging down in search of a specific report. He slipped the pages out and looked up just in time to see Fraser and Jane walk into the bullpen. It wasn't difficult to spot them, for he was a confident man in a red tunic, she was a more morose-looking petite woman in brown and both garnished appreciative looks from the opposite sex. He held the file out for Francesca and grinned. "Hey, Fraze," he said walking toward the pair, Francesca following. 

"Hi, Fraser," Francesca said with a large grin. 

Ray turned to Francesca. "Frannie? Didn't Welsh say he needed those immediately?" 

Francesca ripped her eyes from Fraser and scrunched her face at Ray. "Yeah, yeah," she said. "Don't I even get a moment for hello?" 

"No," Ray snapped, leaning into the word. 

"Fine," Fran snapped back and pranced her way to Welsh's office. 

"What's up, buddy?" Ray asked when he saw the serious look both Mounties wore. 

"We'd like to look through the mug books," Fraser said. 

"Sure, why?" Ray asked, his usual curiosity peeking through. 

Jane knew Fraser was incapable of a decent lie so she jumped in. "I may have witnessed a crime. I'd like to look through them to see if I recognize anyone involved." 

"Really?" Ray asked a bit mesmerized. "All right. You two go to interview one, would ya? I'll bring the first stack of books in a sec." 

Fraser nodded and led Jane to the room at the end of the hall. Within five minutes, Ray appeared, opening the door with his free hand and carrying in a stack of long books. He was followed by Francesca who carried a second pile and set them before Jane. 

"Thanks, Frannie," Ray said as he closed the door behind her. 

Ray sat beside Fraser as Jane flipped slowly through the books. The two chatted, but Jane wasn't listening. Instead she was concentrating so intently that she felt increasing despair every time she turned a page. She would never recognize him, she thought. Every time she felt close to recognizing a picture, she would look and know without a doubt that it wasn't him. 

Inside she was screaming her desperation, but outside she remained calm, changing books with little more than a deep breath. She reached the last one and looked up at Ray. "Are there more?" 

Ray shook his head. "Naw. Since Frannie helped we were able to carry them all in at once." 

Jane had counted on there being more books. She looked at the stack before her and knew he wasn't there, but he had to be somewhere. "Are you certain?" 

"Didn't you see him?" Fraser asked quickly, straightening in his seat. 

She shook her head repeatedly. "No. No, he wasn't there. He wasn't in them anywhere." Her voice was breathy and the anxiety was seeping through. "None of them," she added, babbling for her own sake now. "Not a single picture." 

Fraser took in a deep breath and looked to Ray. "That was all of them? There are no more, perhaps on the computer or something?" 

Ray shook his head. "No. Why? What's the big deal? So he's not there." 

Jane swallowed hard and stood slowly. Fraser followed her lead and moved to his feet. "Jane? Are you all right?" 

Jane took a long blink to gather herself and looked with strength into Fraser's face. "Yeah. I'm fine. This didn't work. It's ok." She wasn't, though. She was now even more convinced that she would never recognize the face of the man who had stolen her dignity. 

Ray looked back and forth between the two. "All right, then. Look. I've got a lot of work to do so I'll leave you two to figure out what you want to do." He opened the door and stepped out. "I'll be at my desk if ya need me," he finished as he closed the door behind him and left the two alone. 

Grabbing her Stetson from the table, she allowed Fraser to open the door. Moving back into the never-ending stream of daytime traffic in the hallway, Jane did her best to once again look, if despondent, at least strong and confident. 

She wasn't sure she could pull it off. 

The two Mounties walked silently back into the squad room, to inform Ray that they were done with the books and to thank him for his time. When they'd finally made their way to Ray's desk, they found that the Chicago detective had left to find something in the mess of filing cabinets. 

"Ray's not here." Jane shot a weary glare at Fraser for his statement of the obvious. "Wait here for one moment." The elder Mountie left Jane standing by the desk as he went off to find the American. 

Not quite sure what to do, nor wanting to stay standing and looking like a fool, Jane quietly sat down at the desk and randomly flipped through some of the papers. Looking around the room, she saw an urban police unit at work, which brought back fond memories of her days in Surrey, British Columbia. Through the windows of his office, Lt. Welsh sat on the phone. Francesca was sorting papers at a cabinet. Huey and Dewey were escorting a man out of the building. 

Huey and Dewey were escorting a man out of the building. 

The man was wearing a leather coat. 

Jane sat for a moment, looking at him. Then, without thinking about it, she launched herself from the chair, knocking it on the floor with a loud racket. She tore across the crowded room, deftly avoiding people who got in her way. As she closed in on the three men, she aimed for the leather-clad man in the middle. 

When she was within arm's length, she jumped at the man. Flying through the air, she voiced a primal yell that caused the men to stop. Landing on the man's back, she knocked him to the ground. Without a moment's let-up, Jane began tearing into the man, using pent-up rage and police learning with ferocity she couldn't recall ever seeing in herself before. Within seconds of her scream, the entire squad bay was turning to see what was going on. 

Huey stood back as Dewey reached in and grabbed one of Jane's arms. She didn't let it slow her as she reached with the other arm and punched the man in the stomach. The man tried to push her away and she flung the arm Dewey held, then slid it through his fingers, landing another punch across the man's face. 

Shifting as she set her claws into his abdomen, she moved her knee on top of him, then moved her weight to the knee in his chest and grabbed at his head, knocking it against the floor. 

Dewey grabbed at her again just as Ray and Fraser came around the corner. Fraser immediately recognized the uniformed officer throwing a hard punch against the man's face and jumped into a run. Ray followed the lead and watched as Dewey tugged an arm while Fraser grabbed around Jane's waist and tried to pull. 

Jane braced herself, wrapping a leg around the man and using her free arm to scratch at his chest. She jerked and pulled away from Dewey before smacking the man again, growling like a wild animal and using the other hand to push at Fraser's grip. 

Fraser held tight and wouldn't let go, tugging repeatedly as Ray joined in and secured a tight hold of one leg. Dewey and Huey each took an arm and ripped Jane away, holding her in the air as she clawed at them and stiffened. 

"Not so tough now, are you?!" she yelled as a bystander helped the man to his feet. Even as she was being pulled backwards, she fought to get at the man, who was also being pulled away. "Come on, you son of a bitch piece of shit bastard! I'm not scared of you! Let's see you fight standing up for once, shitface! What, are you too scared to take on this tiny little woman in broad daylight? Scared I'll kick the shit out of you?!" Trying to swing her arm, she caught the side of Dewey's face with her nails. 

The group holding Jane dragged her kicking and screaming down the hall to the interview room. Dewey slammed the door and they set her down, assuming incorrectly that once away from the scene she would calm. Jane clawed at Fraser who blocked the doorknob and reached for it. She almost had it open before all four men pushed it closed again. Ray shoved her away from the door and she reached back, delivering a punch and heading back for the door. 

Ray recovered quickly and grabbed at her arms, relying on training as he pinched them hard and shoved her to the ground. She squirmed and freed an arm, twisting to her back and throwing Ray a punch. Catching the fist in the air, he clicked a cuff on her wrist. Using knees and hands to straddle and pin her to the floor, he held the cuffed hand firmly. 

Jane closed her eyes and when she opened them, she saw her attacker. Trying to move she realized she was pinned and let out a death scream. This time, by god, someone was going to hear her! She fought Ray hard, caught up in the memories and nightmares of the event. 

She couldn't hear. In her mind, all the noises of the dance club surrounded her and her face became wet with sweat and tears. "Stop it!" she yelled, closing her eyes tightly. "Make it stop!" 

Fraser grabbed Ray's arm, but Ray ignored the less than firm grasp. "Ray!" 

Jane struggled to free herself, tugging the cuffed arm from Ray until he jerked it and secured the other end of the cuff to the nearby table leg. Jane kicked a leg and unsteadied Ray's knee. Repositioning himself, he heard her yelling words he could barely make out. 

"Hey!" Ray yelled. "We've got two more sets of cuffs here and three more officers. You want to have a go? Come on!" 

Fraser grabbed Ray's shoulders. "Stop this," he commanded. 

Ray took another kick from Jane before replying, "Shut the hell up, Fraser!" He looked back at Huey and Dewey who took out their cuffs and pushed Fraser aside to get at Jane. Ray took Huey's cuffs, but before he could do anything, Fraser came around the other side and pushed Ray off Jane. The two struggled so it took all his might, but he managed, even as Jane reached for Ray with free arm and legs. She tugged and fought, but was no match for the heavy metal table. Grunting angrily when Ray moved back, she could no longer reach him with her legs. 

Clawing at the cuffs leaving indentations on her wrist, Jane looked up as the four men surrounded her and began to feel trapped, claustrophobic. Her breathing became fast as she ripped at the metal of the cuffs and didn't even notice that she was making herself bleed. Her chest felt tight and her muscles tensed. She screamed again, her face red and her breath panicked. 

Fraser watched in horror and moved beside Jane, grabbing to stop her hands. "Take them off," he demanded of Ray as he looked in Jane's eyes. "It's all right," he said to her. "Calm down. You're amongst friends." 

Jane tried to scream again, but it stuck in her throat. Her cheeks flushed and she writhed on the floor. 

"Get them off!" Fraser yelled this time before making the smooth tones in Jane's ear. "We don't want to hurt you. Jane?" 

Ray made his way behind her, trying to protect himself as he unlocked the handcuffs. Jane's arm fell limply to the ground and she began to gasp. All the torment caught up with her as she couldn't breathe, scream, or cry. 

"Jane!" Fraser said firmly into her ear before moving closer and speaking her name softly again. She pushed at him. She used feet and hands to push him away, but she was calm now. Her adrenaline had run out and she was exhausted. 

Fraser stood slowly, then leaned over and put an arm around Jane, helping her stand. Though she was determined not to need the help, she was somewhat limp in his arms and as she placed her feet, it took her a moment to be firm enough to use them until she sat in the chair. 

"What the hell?" Ray asked everyone in the room, though he looked to Fraser for answers. 

Fraser took a step sideways and turned to Huey. "Do you know who that was?" 

"He was our guy. Brought him in, but he had an alibi. We were escorting him out." Huey spoke in half sentences, watching Jane carefully for unpredictable moves. 

"Name?" Ray asked. 

"Russ Collins," Dewey replied. 

Jane's head was spinning as she listened. Russ Collins. He had a name. A name and a face. Trying to restore her faade of strength, she brushed the loose hair from her eyes and straightened her uniform. Her movements were hesitant and she was silent for some time. 

Fraser moved close to Ray and spoke softly. "I can't have you ask any questions right now, but I would appreciate it if you would take Huey and Dewey out. Talk to them about that man. Try to learn his whereabouts last Friday evening and tell me if he has a record." He paused. "I'll take care of her." 

Ray nodded. He could tell from Fraser's tone and words that asking questions was not a choice he had been given. He took Huey and Dewey and led them from the room. 

"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said quickly as Ray closed the door behind them. Fraser moved across the table from Jane and sat down. "It appears you were able to recall his face?" 

Jane nodded. "That was him. I'm sure. That was... him." Her vehemence bit through the otherwise silent room. 

"Are you sure?" Fraser asked and received a scornful look from Jane. "I mean, how can you be sure? You couldn't recall his face only minutes ago." 

"I'm sure, Fraser, ok? You don't forget. You simply can't forget something like that! When you know it, you don't forget. You may not remember, but you don't forget." She swallowed hard as her mind flooded with the images over again, only this time there was a demonic face floating in her visions. Shaking her head, she glanced around the room, trying to forget or ignore the memories that were assaulting her. 

Green. Not forest green. Not hunter green, or lime green. Not even regular green. Vile, vomit-like avocado green. That's all there was. Green tile on the floor, green paint on the walls, and green vinyl cushions on the chairs. By the colors of the dcor, the small interrogation room hadn't been re-decorated sine the mid 1970's. And even then it would have passed as a poor decorating job. 

Pushing back the sleeve of her brown serge coat, Jane looked impatiently at her cheap digital watch. It had seemed like ages since she'd last checked the time, an hour at the very least. An hour of silence and unspoken questions. 

It had been eight minutes. 

Standing, Jane walked quickly around the room before returning to her original seat. Throughout her entire foray, Cst. Fraser remained unmoving, sitting patiently in his chair at the gray, institutional table. For the next few minutes, all that happened was the incessant tapping of four neatly manicured nails in a repeating cycle and three more glances are her watch. Every time she checked the time, though, she saw the bloody rings around her wrist and the events in the squad bay were back. 

Standing again, Jane moved slowly to the two-way mirror. Examining herself in the glass, she fixed her tie, and fingered with disapproval the threads on her coat pocket where the gold button had been ripped off. Freeing her hair from the remains of the bun it was in, she shook it out and proceeded to push it this way and that. Holding her hair up, she turned to face Fraser. 

"You know, brown hair is getting kind of old. I've been thinking of going redheaded. Most people try blonde, but I figure that'd just make me look slutty. My sister tried blonde hair in high school, looked like a slut. So I figure I would too, if I were to go blonde, I mean. But, gentlemen prefer blondes - and they do have more fun. Or so they say. But, personal appearance is paramount for a member of the RCMP. So if I did color my hair, it'd be red. What d'you think?" 

Fraser spoke up for the first time since they'd sat down in the interrogation room, for once stopping, not starting aimless and disjointed ramblings. "I think perhaps you'd benefit from having a seat and talking to me." She considered his words for what seemed a long while, then dropped her hair, and sat back down. Her sudden calming both pleased and frightened Fraser. While she wasn't attacking everything that was standing, the change was almost un-natural, as if she was an entirely different person. "Well, Jane, in the past ten minutes you've checked your watch seventeen times, walked around the room eight times, and have made up your mind on three hair colors..." 

"And I'm going with red." 

"And you've decided on red, but I think you're just ignoring the most important matter at hand..." 

"You're damn right I'm ignoring it!" Her hand came down on the table top with a thud. "Do you think I want to remember it? Do you think I relish the memory of that...that....that thing violating me like that?! Because I don't! God damn it all, Fraser. This is why I didn't want to tell you..." 

No longer being shocked by her violent mood swings, Fraser waited a moment before speaking. "You did the right thing, Jane..." 

"Shut up, Fraser! I don't need your psycho-babble bull shit trying to make me feel good about myself...." A deep breath rattled her tiny frame. "I....I'm sorry Fraser.....I shouldn't have blown up at you like that...I just....I can't control myself..." She rested her head on the table, trying to think; she could only think of one thing to do. 

She slowly moved her hand down to her holster. Removing her sidearm, she hit the clip release, dropping it to the floor with a clatter. Pulling and locking the slide back, she ejected the chambered bullet, catching it as it flew upwards. With her pistol unloaded, she slid it, then her three clips, across the table to Fraser, doing all this with a speed and dexterity that came from years of practice. 

"Give those to Ray for me. I'm scared....of what I might do...because I can't....can't keep control of myself..." Taking positive control of the pistol and ammunition settled the tiny voice of fear in the back of Fraser's mind as he put them into one of the large pockets of his riding beeches. 

One of the thousands of worries, at least. 

"I'll do that for you. Maybe you should let some officers take you back to the Consulate. For your own safety, of course." Once again sullen, Jane acquiesced through her silence. 

5:30 PM 

The closed air in her office choked Jane as she sat in the dark. As with the aftermath of hectic duty shifts, car chases, and gun battles, the incident at the 27th Precinct left Jane completely drained, both emotionally and physically. Occasionally she wished that she hadn't shifted offices, because this one didn't have a window. 

Sneaking past Thatcher had been the easiest and the most important. Jane knew that she wasn't suitably uniformed at the moment, what with her hair flowing past her shoulders, at least one missing button, and who knew what else wrong with her. 

Outside the closed door, she could hear Turnbull moving about, doing work, or trying not to break something, or whatever it was he did when nobody was around. The sounds of Turnbull and the Consulate were being suppressed, though, by the sounds of old country music flowing quietly from the small portable stereo on top of a nearby file cabinet. Shoes tossed in the corner, Jane worked to avoid thinking about what had happened. With her legs tucked under her, she worked slowly, yet efficiently, at reattaching the gold button to her lower coat pocket. 

Fraser tugged at his ear just as the car pulled to a stop. Ray Kowalski turned to Fraser who pushed his door open. "You ok, Fraze?" 

Fraser stopped and turned to Ray. "Oh, certainly," he replied, disliking the fact that a lie was necessary. He hated the idea of telling Jane what he'd learned about Russ Collins. He stepped out of the vehicle and waited as Ray followed. The two walked into the Consulate and as Fraser approached Jane's office, he was glad Ray was at his side. Confident that Jane would not again cause a scene with the detective present, he tapped the door three times as he turned to Ray. "Take it easy this time, Ray," he warned gently. 

"Come in," Jane said, watching the door carefully. When she saw that it was Fraser who entered, she commenced formalities, then asked the question most important. "What did you find?" 

Fraser stepped closer to the desk, Ray standing a foot behind and to the side. "We learned that Detectives Huey and Dewey arrested Mr. Collins on suspicion of drug solicitation with intent to buy. Apparently on Friday evening, a drug seller claimed he made a sale to Mr. Collins at the club Vortex." Fraser paused, letting it sink in with Jane. One witness had placed him at their club, but the news did not continue as well. "The drug purchase was said to have been made between twenty hundred and twenty one hundred hours." 

Jane straightened. The news was good. She felt it deep inside her. Someone would place him at the scene of the crime, only a step away from someone witnessing the event, she reasoned. 

"Unfortunately," Fraser continued. Her heart sank. "There are several witnesses who confirm seeing him at The Underground consistently from nineteen hundred to twenty one hundred hours." He watched her tracing the facts. It wasn't a lost cause. "The Detectives determined that he was not involved in the drug sale at Vortex and were therefore compelled to release him." He straightened his stance again before continuing. "However, the witnesses interviewed at Vortex placed him there by twenty two hundred hours. He was there, Jane," he said, almost excited. "He wasn't there for the drug solicitation charge, but witnesses put him there in plenty of time for..." He let the sentence trail off and glanced at Ray. Ray was waiting impatiently for Fraser to continue, still unaware what was going on, but beginning to guess that it involved Jane. 

Jane stood quickly. "What now?" she asked. 

Fraser glanced again at Ray. "I'm not certain. We don't have any real evidence other than that which places him at the scene, but I suppose you could press charges, tell your story, let a jury decide." 

Jane felt warm as frustration worked its way around her brain. There certainly wasn't enough evidence, therefore it was his word against hers and she wasn't so sure she was ready to get her words out in public. 

As Jane looked away and swallowed hard, Ray glanced at Fraser. The two were solemn and the Detective wanted only to help. "Is there anything I can do? Maybe I can get someone to collect evidence on your behalf or -- is there something?" 

Fraser shook his head and spoke vaguely. "We've already recovered as much evidence as possible, but it's far from indisputable." 

Ray furrowed his brow. "Huh? You got evidence, but it's not indisputable and you can't just get more evidence?" He paused. "What's going on, guys? What can I do to help?" 

Fraser looked to Jane, asking for permission, but she responded by clenching her jaw. She wasn't ready, he knew, so he opened the office door, motioning for Ray to join him in the hallway. The two stepped out and Fraser spoke softly. "This is very -- personal for Jane," the Constable began. "I would appreciate it if you would simply play the role of backing us up, helping us, but not asking too many questions." He paused, trying to read the blank look on Ray's face. "It's just too important to let it pass. Even if you do conclude what this is all about, I'm sure both Jane and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't expose the situation." Ray still looked fairly blank. "Understood?" Fraser asked at last. 

Ray nodded. "Ok. I guess I can do that. At some point, though, you're going to have to let me in on this, right?" 

Fraser tipped slightly from side to side and looked to the brim of his hat for answers before pulling his lips back into the slightest of smiles. "At some point." 

A small group of people entered the Consulate, but the two men paid no mind. "I guess the two of you need to figure out what you're doing," Ray said, just as Fraser turned to see the group at the door. Ray followed the glance and was surprised to see Huey, Dewey, and the Lieutenant speaking to Turnbull. When Welsh spotted his detective talking to Fraser, he moved past Turnbull to approach them. 

"What're you doing here, Sir?" Ray inquired immediately. 

The young detective's question was ignored, a gruff question being pointed back at him. "Is she in there, Detective?" He cocked a thumb towards the closed door to Jane's office. 

"Jane?" Ray asked the obvious question, though he was not sure if he did to clarify the situation or to stall for time. The Lieutenant nodded. "Yeah, she's in there." Over the Lieutenant's shoulder, Ray could see Huey and Dewey approaching. They seemed to have recovered from the incident at the precinct, but neither seemed particularly pleased to be here. 

"Move aside, Detective." Welsh pushed the door open, but hesitated a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dark. Expecting a gentle knock from Fraser, Jane leapt to her feet when the door burst open. 

"Lieutenant Welsh?" Her voice was calm, but inquisitive, more asking then stating. Although he didn't know much about her, Welsh had talked to the younger Mountie a few times and made an odd mental note that she pronounced his rank like an American, while Fraser used the more English sounding Leftenant. Shaking the thought from his mind, he steeled himself for what he came to do. 

"Constable McDermon. I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." 

"Why, sir?" She knew damn well why, but she, too, was stalling for time. Into the small office crowded Fraser, Ray, and Huey. Detective Dewey and Turnbull stood just outside the door. 

"Constable McDermon, you're being arrested for the aggravated assault and battery of Mr. Russell Collins." 

Ray piped up from behind his boss. "You can't do that. She's got diplomatic immunity or something." 

"And she's also, technically, on Canadian soil." Fraser interjected quickly after his friend was finished. "You'll have to file extradition papers." From behind her desk, however, Jane raised her hand to Fraser. 

"Don't worry about it, Ben." She turned to Welsh. "I'll come along quietly." She couldn't recall the last time she'd been arrested and this would be the first time she was being charged with something, but she couldn't see running or trying to fight it. The sense of justice was too deeply ingrained in her, plus she was still in shock. 

She also knew that cops always won in situations like this. 

"Just let me get my coat." She picked up the wool jacket off her desk and slid into it with ease. Normally she'd grab her Sam Browne, but not this time. The gun belt would stay coiled on the edge of her desk. Instead, she went into the small coat closet and retrieved the brown cloth belt that went with her jacket if she wasn't packing heat. Putting her Stetson on squarely, she moved around the desk and held her wrists out, fists clenched and facing upwards. She knew the drill, both from hundreds of arrests and being cuffed herself many times in training. Huey stepped forward and gently locked his handcuffs around her wrists, mindful of the bruises that her sleeves covered. 

The last snap of the cuffs locking into place had a mournful sound to it, but not a person in the room said a thing. 

8:30 PM 

Jane was almost surprised. 

It wasn't her first time inside a prison, her job took her into cells and lock-ups often, but never before as a resident. Prisons had always imparted in her a sense of being cold, with their bare brick or concrete walls, dull floors, and an overbearing sense of gloom. This one was different, though. As she tried to make herself comfortable on the old cot, a warm breeze flowed down upon her. The heating duct just over the small bed made this holding cell in the 27th Precinct seem almost cozy. 

For a prison, at least. She wasn't sure if every cell was like this, or if it were just luck that she got heat. Deep inside she wished it were something more, that perhaps someone had arranged for this small measure of comfort. Already Jane knew that she was not considered a normal prisoner. Although she hadn't worked with the 27th enough to build the level of respect that Fraser had, Jane had earned the Americans' respect just by wearing the same scarlet tunic that he did. If he was family, it seemed, then so was she. The duty officer seemed to stop at her cell far more often than the others and each time asked in hushed, but polite terms if Jane could use anything. Twice she'd accepted a Styrofoam cup of strong coffee, but nothing more. 

Fraser had been back to see her once earlier, bringing news on her status. The Lieutenant was sure, Fraser said, that Jane would be released quickly, both on her own recognizance, and as a condition of her diplomatic immunity. With one catch. 

The staff that would normally handle the paperwork were gone for the day, and the night staff had no idea how to handle diplomatic papers, simply because they were so rare. To avoid paying the day workers time and a half to come back in, the powers that be decided to simply let Jane cool her heels overnight, for which she couldn't help but laugh contemptuously. 

It seemed absolutely absurd to her, although she still knew it would happen. Murderers, drug dealers, and mobsters could call a lawyer and post ridiculously high bonds immediately, to return to the streets and a life of crime. An officer of the law, however, would and could be kept because some minor paper-pusher wasn't familiar with diplomatic immunity. 

America wasn't so much different from Canada, she concluded for the dozenth time since arriving in Chicago. 

Meanwhile 

Fraser held the seat of the GTO forward, letting Diefenbaker hop from the back seat while Ray swung the drivers' door closed. Hurrying around the vehicle, he caught up with the Mountie and cut off the wolf, leaving him to walk behind the pair. 

Ray had been more than a little stunned when he'd learned that Jane brought Fraser to this establishment Friday night. He'd tried many times to relax the Mountie, but had taken small steps. Taking him to such a wild club hadn't crossed his mind. 

It was quiet when they entered, as on many weeknights, but when the bouncer saw the wolf, he smiled. Glancing up at the new owners, he waved them inside and gave Dief a scratch in passing. Fraser looked around a moment before leading the way to the bar. Ray took the lead until they approached the counter. Fraser stepped up and removed his Stetson. He recognized the bartender and waved him over. 

"What'll it be?" the man asked wiping his hands on a rag. 

"We didn't come here for drinks," Fraser replied, to which the man nodded and started to leave. Fraser reached across the bar and took his arm, pulling him back. "We have questions." 

The bartender shrugged. "No time for questions," he said, then turned again. 

This time, Kowalski grabbed the arm and held up his badge. "You sure you don't have time for questions? I think you do." 

The man dropped the rag on the counter and leaned on it. "Ok, what?" 

"You were working Friday night, weren't you?" Fraser asked. 

"Sure," the man said, "but you knew that. You were here with that little woman who drank a lot." 

"You remember?" Fraser inquired. 

"Yeah, sure. I remember people's faces, it's good for the job. Photographic memory I guess. Kind of a curse. Look, it's not my fault if she..." 

Fraser shook his head. "There was a man in a leather jacket. He was probably watching her. Did you notice him?" 

"You mean the guy who knocked her change on the floor?" The bartender shifted. 

"Her change?" Fraser paused. "I don't recall." 

"The one who put the stuff in her drink." The bartender tried to confirm. 

Fraser glanced at Ray. The two looked back at the bartender. "What?" Fraser asked, stunned. 

"Yeah, he had two capsules. I saw him knock her change on the floor, but I looked away for a minute. When I looked back, he dropped the empty capsules on the bar and I saw something floating in her drink. By the time she found her change, it had sort of melted into it." 

Ray's eyes widened. "Any idea what it was?" 

The bartender shook his head and took a step back. "Nope, could have been anything." 

Ray could see the man was holding back. "We're not here for you. We're here for her. Are you sure you don't know what it was?" 

The man considered for a moment, then sighed. "Looked like the capsules they use for homemade X," he replied finally. 

Fraser furrowed his brow and looked at Ray. "Ecstasy," Ray informed him. "They buy pills or they make it themselves and put it in those little break apart capsules." He made a motion of something being pulled apart in his hands then turned back to the bartender. "Got anybody who can tell us where he bought it, see him buy it, anything?" 

He shook his head. "Naw. I picked them up and threw them away. Those things get passed around like candy. We really can't do anything to stop it. They go around selling it to all the clubs. Makes it impossible to pinpoint, but..." The man shrugged. "That ain't my job, anyway." 

"Could you identify the man if you saw him again?" Fraser ran his thumbnail along his brow as he asked the question. 

"Sure," he replied and pointed to his head. "Photographic, remember? I'm sure I could. Besides, I've seen him around the club a bunch of times." 

"Ever seen him put something in a drink before?" Ray asked as Fraser reached into his pocket and pulled out a copy of the fresh mug shot. 

The man shook his head. "He's pretty quiet, mostly. Kind of shy, actually." He glanced at the picture presented to him and nodded. "Yup. That's him." 

"Shy," Ray grunted and shrugged. "If you think of anything else," he added, then passed the man a card. 

Fraser replayed the words in his head. 'All the clubs.' "Do you think that man has been going to all the clubs where they sell this stuff?" 

The bartender thought a moment. "Sure. It's possible. I hope you're not thinking he's the seller. No, he's not around that much and I've seen him take a pill or two before, but mostly he comes in here completely sober." 

Fraser nodded. "Thank you kindly for your help," he said, then put his Stetson back on his head. He gave it a tug and turned. 

"What are you thinking, Fraze?" Ray asked as he followed the Mountie. 

"I'm not certain," he replied. "It is confirmed that he was not here for the drug sale that happened at this club, but the bartender says these are distributed all over town. Earlier that evening he was confirmed as being at the club The Underground, correct?" Ray nodded his response and waited for more. "Perhaps he made the purchase there. Perhaps someone there can give us information in that respect." Fraser led the way to the dance floor and glanced at the numerous faces. 

"Maybe we should go there and ask some questions," Ray offered. 

"Perhaps," Fraser replied. "First, we should exhaust the possibilities here." He recognized a face and went into the crowd. Reaching into his belt, he produced two pictures and held them in one hand while requesting the person join him at the edge of the dance floor. 

"Do you recognize this man?" Fraser asked loudly to be heard over the blaring music. 

The girl nodded. "Sure. Comes here all the time." 

"What about this woman?" he asked, showing a picture of Jane in uniform he had pulled from her service file. 

"Uh," the girl looked at the picture, then took it from him and examined it. "Oh, yeah. Sure. She was dancing with him last weekend. Friday, I think." 

"Did you see them leaving together?" Fraser questioned. 

"No, he took her across the dance floor and disappeared in the crowd." 

"I see," Fraser replied. "Might anyone else recognize them?" 

The girl looked around, and then pointed across the room. "Marcus was here that night, I think. Try him." 

Fraser nodded, then went to 'Marcus.' The two talked, Ray listening intently, but not speaking. Fraser interviewed several people, then headed for the exit. 

As the two drove, Ray put the pieces together in his head. From the witnesses they learned that Russ and Jane had been seen dancing together. Some of them described his taking her across the floor as him dragging, pulling, and otherwise forcing her through. Some attested that she appeared somewhat inebriated, but most agreed that she had seemed friendly at first and only unwilling later. Only one person had seen him push her back off the dance floor while Fraser was looking for her. Most claimed to be willing to testify such observations and as Fraser felt he had enough information, Ray felt he did also. It was apparent to him now that Jane had been raped, but instead of saying it aloud, he just drove in silence to The Underground. 

The two entered the club with little trouble and found the place more occupied than their previous stop, yet still quieter than Friday night had been. Fraser began to ask questions while Ray listened and watched the wolf sniffing around. The bouncer admitted to knowing that Russ usually bought his drugs at that club, but again claimed they couldn't pinpoint the dealers. The bartender claimed buys happened outside of the establishment, but insisted he saw Russ with a few pills in his hand while he waited for a drink. According to him, Russ frequented The Underground quite often and his ecstasy buys were somewhat legendary. He took very few himself, often handing them out, instead, to friends and beautiful women. 

It was very late when Ray dropped Fraser at the Consulate and headed home. He got home just in time to miss the news so he instead got ready for bed. 

Wednesday   
9:00 AM 

As Jane opened the door to her apartment, she let out a sigh of relief. She was home, where everything was comfortable and safe. Dropping her keys and the morning paper on the dining table, she removed her jacket and threw it across the room. 

Catching a flashing light from the corner of her eye, Jane glanced near the phone and focused on the answering machine. It took her a moment to debate checking the messages or taking a shower, but curiosity won out. Tapping the appropriate button, she slipped off her shoes while listening to the first message. The receptionist for Dr. Campana had a deep voice, but her message was clear. Jane was expected to return their call immediately. 

Deciding she hadn't had decent food for too long, she went to the cupboard and continued to listen. Another message from Dr. Campana's office made her expectations clear. Still, she had to endure a third and fourth message while nibbling on some nacho chips. 

Sitting at the table, she picked up the portable phone and listened as the fifth and final message played. Dr. Campana had actually made the effort to call Jane personally. She clicked in the numbers as the machine beeped the end of its final message, then rolled the band off the paper and flipped it open. Glancing at the national headline, she listened until the receptionist answered. 

"Dr. Campana's office." 

"This is Constable Jane McDermon. I understand the doctor wants to speak with me?" 

"Hold please," the woman spouted quickly, then turned to the elevator music before Jane could agree or disagree. The wait was long so she began to read the first article in the news. Finally the doctor picked up. 

"McDermon?" 

"This is Constable McDermon, Yes," she replied to the male voice. 

"This is Dr. Campana. We've been trying to get hold of you." 

"Yeah, well..." 

Before she could excuse herself, he continued. "We ran the blood sample through many tests. I assumed you had contracted some sort of infection or that the symptoms were purely psychological, however," he paused quickly to take a breath. "When we ran the blood to test for drugs, it turned up an anomaly." 

"Excuse me?" Jane said, surprised. 

"There is an illegal substance known as methylene dioxymethamphetamine or MDMA. Do you know what that is?" The long name rang tantalizingly familiar to her, but the number of drug names she'd come across in her job was mind-boggling. 

"Not a doctor," she replied with frustrated sarcasm. "Give me laymen's terms." 

"Its street name is ecstasy, Constable McDermon," he replied. 

Jane jumped to her feet. "What?!" 

"From the amount we can conclude that you either took a small amount or, more likely and considering the situation, you may have been slipped a large amount between 72 hours and 96 hours before the blood sample was taken." 

Jane did the math quickly in her head, then thought back on the night. How many times had she removed her eyes from her drinks? 'Only a moment,' she reasoned, but knew that a moment was long enough. "Are those tests admissible if I take legal action?" 

"Of course they are," the doctor replied. "We'll get the paperwork ready for you." 

"Thanks," she said softly, then hung up the phone. Letting out a grunt, she sat at the table again and looked over the paper. She flipped it inside the first page and was stunned by what she saw. In bold typeface, she read the words "Canadian Police Officer attacks American Citizen" In smaller letters, the summary of the article caused her heart to quicken. "While waiting at the 27th precinct, a local man was assaulted by a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Speculations as to the cause of the attack are unclear, but witnesses say it was unprovoked. The man, Russell Collins, has pressed charges claiming assault and battery against the Canadian officer." 

Jane stopped reading and let out a breath. Her first thought jumped to her superior, Inspector Thatcher. Feeling frustrated, she groaned and headed for the shower. She knew she wouldn't survive the guaranteed summons into Thatcher's office, and Jane was determined to go to St. Peter with a clean body, if not a clean soul... 

10:00 AM 

After some time to think, Jane packed the dress and underwear she'd kept hidden into a plastic bag and called Fraser. She told Turnbull that she was Francesca Vecchio and spoke in a different voice, hoping to avoid questions from him or an early wrath from Thatcher. 

Fraser furrowed his brow when Turnbull informed him that Francesca was calling. He picked up the phone carefully. "Constable Fraser," he said in trepidation. 

"It's Jane," she said first. "Look, I need a favor. I'm going to the 27th. Can you meet me at Ray's desk in one hour?" 

"I have a lot of work," Fraser stated. 

"I know, but it's really important. Please, Fraser." 

Benton had been anxious to share the information he had learned with her all morning so he agreed. As soon as he hung up, he straightened his papers and placed his Stetson on his head before leaving the Consulate quietly. 

Jane arrived first at the 27th precinct as she'd been ready to leave immediately and had the pleasure of driving rather than the long walk Fraser had ahead. She hurried to Detective Kowalski's desk and when she saw his surprise, she held up a hand. "I have a favor." 

Ray cocked his head, then glanced at the bag in her other hand. Wondering if she'd heard the news of the previous evening, he asked his question immediately. "Have you talked to Fraser?" 

"He's meeting me here," she replied. "Let's say I have this friend," Jane began quickly. "She's got a sort of situation, you see. Could you get these down to the forensics lab? We need to keep it all rather quiet." 

Ray nodded and picked up the phone. "Sure. Cynthia owes me a favor anyway." Calling the lab, he spoke with the woman only a moment before hanging up. "Let's take it down." Ray stood to show her the way, but hesitated. "Jane...Fraser told me not to ask. He said to keep this private....but...is this friend of yours...is it you?" Jane didn't say a word. Her eyes answered his question well enough. 

10:55 AM 

When Fraser arrived, he found Jane and Ray sitting near his desk talking. As he neared them, he heard the conversation was light and friendly. The weather had been mentioned once. He stood beside Jane and greeted them politely. 

"Hello, Fraze," Ray said quickly. 

Jane glanced at the fellow Mountie and stood quickly. She reached into one of the lower pockets of her red tunic and pulled out a small notebook. Holding it out to Fraser, she spoke softly. "I want you to hold this. It's safe keeping." Fraser tried to take it from her, but her grip was firm. "It's just a journal. I wrote about -" she swallowed. "I wrote about the incident shortly after it happened. It could be useful." 

Fraser tugged it from her gently. "I'll take good care of it. I promise." 

Jane smiled. The truth was she knew the information could be helpful on the case and she'd been gathering evidence, but it was a book that held a number of incredibly intimate details of her life, including relationships with friends and co-workers, plus those of a more personal nature. She didn't know if she could trust herself to present it to an attorney later since she could barely relinquish it to the trusty hands of Fraser now. 

"And Fraser, if I find out you've been reading it for laughs before going to sleep, so help me..." She shook a fist at him jovially. "Promise me you'll take care of that, Fraser. Because I have to go take care of something now..." 

11:25 AM 

The hall outside Thatcher's Consular office was deathly quiet. A pair of Strathcona boots echoed loudly, even against the soft carpeting, giving a strange counterpoint to the beating of Jane's heart. She knew what was coming. For sure the Inspector would ask her to explain herself, but what would she say? Or would she be able to say anything at all. 

Placing her hand on the doorknob, Jane hesitated for a moment. She looked at Turnbull's desk. He sat there, as always: reliable, unmoving Turnbull. Today he was different, though. When she'd entered the Consulate, he merely said that the Inspector wanted to see her, and then averted his eyes from her as if she could transmit the Black Death to him by eyesight. Jane fixed her lanyard, tugged at the bottom of her tunic, then paused. Steeling herself, she swung the door open and walked in. 

"Constable McDermon, reporting as ordered, Inspector." Across the desk, Thatcher raised her eyes from the stack of papers in front of her to the young Constable. "I apologize for my tardiness, ma'am." 

"Yes, I'm sure you do." Thatcher's voice was calm and quiet, which frightened the younger Mountie. "Then again, I can understand how it would be hard to make it to work, Constable. Especially when one is in a Chicago lockup." Thatcher tossed a newspaper onto the desk. Opposed to the paper Jane had read, this one carried the story of the police station attack on the front page. Below the banner headline resided two pictures. One was Russ Collins in the hospital, being bandaged and stitched by a compassionate looking nurse. The other picture was the official portrait from an RCMP service jacket, with a smiling Jane McDermon in red serge. "Is there anything you have to say for yourself, Constable?" 

Jane paused, trying to think of something to say. Glaring at the picture, she was disgusted by the innocence he attempted to portray. 

"Constable McDermon, I didn't think you would have anything to tell me. Well, let me tell you something. I have proved to be, if nothing else, a well-meaning officer of the Canadian government. In one fell swoop, you have vilified the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Dominion of Canada! Attacking a local man in the middle of a police station? What in the world would posses you do to do something so stupid?!" 

"Ma'am....there were...circumstances..." She cringed mentally; what a stupid way of putting it. She merely straightened her already rigid spine and continued to stare at a spot of wall six inches over her boss' head. 

"Circumstances! That is the biggest load of crap you've handed me since the day you showed up in Chicago. Do you have an idea what sort of damage you've done to the image of Canada in this town? The Americans were just beginning to believe that we didn't all live in igloos and now this! You are single-handedly undermining my best efforts, and I do believe you are doing it intentionally." The Inspector motioned to a pile of papers on top of her desk blotter. "Do you know what these are, Constable?" 

"Papers, ma'am. Specifically, they are RCMP 12539-FN forms...at least, according to the label. Ma'am." 

"More specifically, Constable, they are forms for the disciplinary separation of a member from the RCMP." Thatcher lowered her voice. "I told you I was going to see you kicked out of the Force, and today's the day. I'm recommending to Ottawa that you be dismissed from the RCMP and formally charged under the Mounted Police Act when you return to Canada - after whatever sentence the Americans give you, that is." When Jane dared to move her eyes down to the Inspector's face, she could almost see the evil grin that spread across Thatcher's face. 

"Yes ma'am. I understand, ma'am." It was amazing, Jane thought. It had taken four years of study at the University of Ontario and six months of hell at Depot Division to earn her scarlet tunic and the coveted title of Constable. Now, it would only take a small pile of papers and a few words to take it all away from her. 

"Now, if you please, your issue sidearm and your badge." Jane pulled her ID wallet from a pocket, and handed it across the desk. "And your sidearm? I know for a fact you carry it in uniform." 

"Ma'am, both my issue .38 caliber and 9-mm sidearms have been surrendered to the care of Detective Raymond Vecchio of the Chicago PD for safekeeping." 

"Very well." With a smile that would befit the fallen angel herself, Inspector Thatcher dropped Jane's ID into a desk drawer and slammed it closed. Just like that, as far as the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Dominion of Canada were concerned, Constable Jane Katherine McDermon, Regimental Number 13048, ceased to exist. 

"Dismissed, Ms. McDermon." 

3:15 PM 

The whine of a vacuum droned incessantly, filling Jane's apartment with the glorious sound of cleanliness. So intent was she on the carpet, she didn't hear the knock on her door at first. Turning off the upright, she stepped over the cord and around the separated piles of clothes on her floor. She looked through the peephole and saw the blonde detective. Opening the door, she greeted her caller. 

"Hello Ray. Come in. Can I get you something to drink?" 

"No, no, I'm fine. Thanks for asking." He paused for a minute while they sat on the couch. "Surprised me a bit when I stopped at the Consulate and talked to Turnbull. He told me I could find you here." He shifted the folder in his hand. 

"Yeah, I got fired today. That's why I'm here, and not in uniform." Ray didn't mention it, but it was unusual to see Jane in jeans and a hockey jersey in the middle of the day. "But enough about that." It took the detective a moment to get over how she dismissed her unemployment with such apparent ease. 

"I tried to call, but I couldn't get through." Setting the folder on his knee, a corner of white peeped out from the edge. 

She pointed to the phone next to the couch. The handset sat next to the base, and the thin sound of the dial tone could be faintly heard. "Reporters calling all day long. Want to get interviews, shit like that. What brings you here? Have a seat." 

"Well, like I told you, Cynthia down in forensics owed me a favor. She tested the...uh, the stains on the clothes you gave me." Neither Jane, nor Fraser, nor Ray, it seemed, were yet able to discuss this case with the same frankness as they would if the victim was anyone else. "She pulled a blood type for the attacker. B positive." 

"If you're going where I think you're going with this, I swear I'll kiss you..." 

Ray smiled at the intriguing prospect and held out the folder to her. She took it as he continued. "I went down to County General and sniffed around, found this nurse." He tapped the picture on the newspaper that sat on the coffee table. "I found out that this Collins guy has a very specific blood type." 

"B positive." 

"B positive." Ray confirmed. "And I'd wager that a sample of blood from Collins would prove to be an exact DNA match. That gives us a matching blood type, his own alibi places him at the club at the time of your attack, and he's a known buyer of ecstasy. I can get the information to the State's Attorney's office before they close. I think we have enough evidence to get rape charges to stick to this guy." 

Ray watched as Jane flipped the file open and glanced through the photocopies of the reports. She would have to read over the specifics later, but it looked as though all was in order. Dropping the file to the table, she looked back at Ray. He smiled a bit and added his personal note. "I hear Stella is already encouraging Collins to drop the assault charges. It would look horrible for his defense and would be a lost cause if he kept that up. Besides, takes a special kind of stupid to press assault charges against a little woman with such an innocent face" he smiled, letting her know it was meant in humor "while she's got a rape charge behind her." 

"Damn right. I'd get my life back. Get my job back..." She smiled faintly, then leaned over, grabbed Ray, and pulled him close. Before he could say a word, she pressed her lips to his. It was a passionate kiss, to which she gladly felt Ray respond in kind. After a moment, she pulled back. Wiping the corner of her mouth, she answered his inquiring eyes. "I said I would. My word, Ray, is my bond." She stood and began walking to the bedroom. Turning, her voice was lower than before, with a sultry quality that Ray hadn't noticed. "Stay right there, I need to slip into something more judicial." 

5:05 PM 

Although it had only been a few hours since she left the confines of the holding cell, Jane saw an entirely new 27th Precinct when she walked in. A somber gray business suit presented a crisp appearance, like a TV detective, but it did not reflect her mood in the least. 

The simple act of formally pressing charges against Russell Collins had done more to affect Jane's memory of the incident then any amount of alcohol had. No longer would she be a victim of that man. With rape charges in her hand, she stood to strike back a second time at the man who had taken her dignity. This time, it would be legal, too. Things would be different now. 

The looks Jane received were different, too. They seemed compassionate, and almost admiring. After her arrest, rumors of what happened to her had begun to spread. Her bringing in the clothes for testing had further teased the gossip-hounds. Finally, a phone call from a clerk at the State's Attorney's office passed word that Jane was formally accusing Collins of rape, assault and battery, and criminal intent to inflict bodily harm. Instantly the rumors were confirmed, and the unexpected attack of the previous day made sudden and complete sense. 

Across the room, Jane found Ray at his desk. Moving across the crowded squad bay, she dropped the file of papers on his desk. The two had gone to the State's Attorney's office together, but Jane had to stop at the Consulate to leave some papers for the Inspector. Ray was already pulling on his coat when he first spoke. 

"I'm taking a couple uniforms and we're going to go bring in Collins. You wanna come?" Jane pondered for a moment, then shook her head. 

"I'm not a Constable today, Ray. Go out and get your man...besides, we want to get him in custody alive..." She grinned earnestly, and sat down to wait. It was almost an hour that Jane sat there, fielding small talk and sympathy from officers, before Ray returned with a man that Jane recognized instantly. 

Standing slowly, Jane moved into the room directly adjacent to the interrogation room where Ray had moved Collins. Staring through the window, she knew that he couldn't see her, but that didn't matter. The bottom of her throat began to fill with the acid taste of fear. Fear was something she'd worked hard throughout her life to overcome. On more then one occasion she had kept her cool while under fire from desperate men trying to escape the cold steel of the Mounted Police. She'd transported convicted serial murders who would have shattered her spinal cord as soon as look at her. She'd delivered breach babies and recovered dead bodies, all without the familiar taste in her throat. 

This was different, on a base level, however. She couldn't place the exact cause, except for the man sitting at a table on the other side of a brick wall and a two-way mirror. Taking one last look at her attacker, she turned and quickly left the room. 

10:30 PM 

The ringing cell phone jerked Jane from her reverie. As soon as she had gotten home, she'd gotten herself a cold beer from the refrigerator, the first she'd allowed herself since the weekend she spent blotting out her memory. The cell phone was her only way of communication, because the number was unlisted, and so safe from reporters. 

Picking up the phone, she looked at the display. Recognizing the number, she flipped open the phone and put it to her ear. 

"Hello Ray, what's going on?" 

"I've got some news you might be interested in. What's it worth to ya?" 

"It's impolite to tease a lady, Ray. Now fill me in." 

"Well, I asked Mr. Collins a few questions..." She could hear Ray flipping through paperwork in the background. 

"How many hours'd you keep him?" 

"Four. For being such a bastard, he was a wimp. Crapped out after about three hours of light questioning..." 

"So you only kicked him in the face for every other lie he told you?" A laugh came across the digital connection clearly. 

"Yea, something like that. Well, he broke about an hour ago. Confessed to the whole damn thing, plus some other shit we didn't even know about. Gave the name of a couple local suppliers of home made ecstasy, some of his friends who bought the stuff too, lots of good things. I called the SA's office; they're going to let him plead out on all the charges. Of course, with all the things he 'fessed, his minimum sentence is going to be long enough..." 

"And it's over that easy..." 

"It is. The charges against you are being dropped, nobody in their right mind would try the case, so it looks like positions are reversed. He's the one going to get crucified in tomorrow's paper. Reporter's are already swarming down here, this place can't keep a secret worth a crap." 

"Let 'em know what happened. Call me strange, but I don't enjoy making the front page of the paper." She glanced down at the front-page spread on her coffee table, and realized she had reason to smile just like she was in the picture. 

"Jane...it looks like you're going to get your life back." 

"It does, doesn't it? Thanks Ray, I've got to go take care of some things..." 

"Ok Jane. Bye." She flipped the phone closed and set it down. Picking up the paper, she thought back over the events of the past six days. She was taken aback briefly; had it only been six days? Looking at the two pictures, she considered what she'd been through. 

Tossing the paper onto the couch, she picked up her bottle of beer and walked to the window. Looking over the city lights, she closed her eyes, and decided to get some sleep. 

Friday  
11:00 AM 

Chicago O'Hare International Airport never was quiet, but if it were ever close to calm, the gate that Jane waited at may have been it. It seemed very few people were traveling to Toronto on this particular flight. It made sense to Jane, though. It would be getting very cold in Ontario; so most people would be traveling south. A few bored businessmen in expensive suits sat in one corner, a small family in the row of chairs closet to the large windows. 

Standing apart from even the small crowds, Jane waited quietly with Fraser. The purse over her shoulder was heavy and it taken a small effort, plus diplomatic and police identification to get Jane's 9-mm through security. In the pocket next to the holster in her RCMP-issue purse was a worn leather wallet, with a picture ID and a small badge. 

Jane Katherine McDermon was once again a Mountie. 

"Fraser. I just wanted to thank you for...for..." She searched for the words to say how she felt, but failed. "For staying in my apartment while I'm up in Toronto." 

"It's my pleasure. I'll just try and keep Diefenbaker off the furniture." He knew what she was trying to thank him for, but didn't press the subject. His comment about the wolf struck her as funny, either because she didn't care about wolf hair, or the fact that she knew he would fail in his attempts. She threw her head back in a hearty laugh she couldn't contain, freshly coloured auburn hair catching the sun just the right way to catch Fraser's eye. 

"Don't worry about it, Fraser. I can use a lint brush if I'm going to have company sit on the couch." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the desk clerk opening the door to the jet way. Readjusting the purse strap, she turned to face it. "Well, looks like my ride, doesn't it?" 

"Yes, indeed." 

"Fraser, don't look so impassive. I'll be back in three weeks." Compassionate leave had quickly been given to Jane, without her even asking for it. "And I'll call when I get home. So that you can let the Inspector know I made it, of course..." Jane smiled faintly. Ever since the truth of what had happened became public, Thatcher had treated her with much greater leniency. At first Jane thought it mere politeness for her situation, but she could see a different look in her boss' eye. Respect, perhaps. 

Pulling her boarding pass from her purse, Jane turned back to face Fraser. Speaking over the boarding call for First Class passengers, she impulsively threw her arms around the red-clad man. "Thank you, Fraser. For being there for me. You don't know what it means..." Never one for long farewells, she stretched her tiny frame and gave the taller Mountie a sisterly peck on the cheek. Before he could respond, she turned and walked to join the other First Class passengers in line to board. Taking one last look at her, he turned and began walking to the parking garage. 

He had to get back to the Consulate. There was work to do, of course. 

The End  
Knowledge is power. http://www.RAINN.org 

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End Pure Ecstasy by Tim Woyma and Laura Lee aka Snowee:

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